Season of Mists
by Cansei de Ser Sexy
Summary: They all were trying to be something else than they had ever been, but when season of mists arrives, and madness returns, how far one would let himself change? And to what end? Story continuation to Song of Solomon.
1. Honor Among Thieves

_A/N: All right, here we go. _

_For the sake of clarifications, this is a direct continuation to **Song of Solomon.**_

_Enjoy._

* * *

_To absent friends, lost loves, old gods and the seasons of mists. And may each and every one of us always give the devil his due._

**Season of Mists**

* * *

**_Prologue:_**

**_The _****_Ma_****_d _****_House_**

* * *

It has been said that some things in life just can't be acquired, some things are simply priceless, but Alan begged to differ.

Everything he had ever done in his life had a price; his father had cost him his teenagers years, his mother cost him his mature years, his ex-wife cost him a third of his wages, his children cost him another third of it, and he had a feeling that this was going to cost him much more, possibly countless sleepless nights, a few tears, and some self-disgust but in the end, it was also going to earn him millions of dollars, a thing that he was sure, he could find many ways to bury his woes with...

The majestic gothic building loomed in the dark night, its countless twirling towers and terraces rising to the pale moon. It was a haunting figure in the middle of a grove; something that could have leapt out of Poe's mind, illustrating the same mystery, horror and macabre.

His eyes wandered over the graveyard on the left side of the castle, then they turned to the massive winged double-gate warning the guests and clients where they were about to walk into.

Arkham Asylum.

Alan thought it would have been appropriate if _'Abandon all hope ye who come here' _had been engraved below the entrance.

This was not how he had dreamed his life should be. He had never hoped for improbable things, Alan was always realistic. He had never dreamed of being rich, going to Europe for breakfast, driving a Formula One car, or things like that. Alan was mediocre, even down to his dreams, and looking backwards, he thought, perhaps that was where he had done wrong.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

So he was venturing now, he was gambling with his life and with his innocence, not to mention that of many of others, but he was damn tired of always losing, not gaining anything; his family, his wife, his job...This time he was going to pay the bills, whatever the costs were, he was going to pay, and was going to win...

Then he heard it.

The laughter, the maddening screech like an old rusty hinge, brutal and insidious, and sounding like anything _but_ laughter.

It echoed up to the tall ceilings as he approached the cell, the place no one wanted to go, no one wanted to set foot inside. He passed his electronic card through the key slot, and the metal door opened. Alan slowly pushed it forward then stopped as the whiteness engulfed him. In stillness for a split of second his eye caught on the man inside, sitting in the middle of the white padded room, his head thrown backward, and he thought it wasn't worth it; nothing was worth the malice ringing in the air as the thrills of laughter burst from his scarred mouth.

The man, the laughter, the madness... none of it was worth it... and he was more vile than the meanest creature on the face of the earth, to think that… to even dare to think it… But this was a madhouse, full of madness, and one thing Alan had learned during his time here was that regardless what the doctors said, madness was contagious.

Because if you looked at madness...

The scarred man abruptly stopped, and it felt like the whole of existence fell into silence with him, then he lifted his head, and glazed eyes found his.

...Madness looked back at you.

* * *

_**Chapter One: **_

_**Honor Among Thieves**_

* * *

"_It's an indeed very sad day for all Gotham's ladies,_" said the host of the magazine program ruefully, shaking her head where she sat at the triangular table in the studio with her two co-hosts. "_The dreams of fairy tale endings with Gotham's Prince are no more." S_he turned to the cameras. "_As you might have heard, the news was dropped on us like a flash of lighting; the prince of Gotham married his girlfriend, Valerie West in a Las Vegas ceremony two days ago._"

Valerie's attention skipped from the little bit information about the Council they had managed to gather to the woman on the TV. "She looks disappointed," she remarked, glancing at her new husband.

"I guess..." Bruce said, his attention still fixed on the page he was reading, "Last year she tried to get me into bed."

"Now did she?" Valerie asked, her eyes turning again to the TV set. "Nope, she isn't your type."

He arched one eyebrow. "She isn't?"

"Nope, you're not into blondes."

He shook his head as the hosts of the program continued to discuss their love life. "_Ah, I remember when Wayne started showing up alone around town," _the male host started_, "that was a quite the day for you ladies—_" He barked out a laugh. _"I warned you, though. She isn't the type that will let him off the hook quite that easily._" Valerie arched her eyebrow, a little smile tugging at her lips. "_I told you not to raise your hopes. Wayne was showing up without her, yes, but not with other girls. Bruce Wayne was showing up _alone_._"

"I knew he was smart," Valerie said, as Bruce flicked his eyes to her. The man continued gleefully. "_Do you remember when I told you about our encounter months ago? Th__at was when they__ show__ed __up with several other dates__? I__ cornered her and asked her about it. She smiled and said they loved _company_," _the man stressed the last word strongly,_ "then I asked why the company always consisted of women, and she smiled and said 'You know rich boys, they don't like competition._" They laughed as Valerie smiled fully with them. Bruce rolled his eyes. "_Then I asked 'What about you—you don't seem to oppose some competition," _the man went on_, "She looked at the girls and then at Wayne, and laughed. 'Competition' she said with a sniff, you know with an _actual_ sniff, 'Please.' It was at that moment __that I __knew Wayne was gonna have it really hard with this woman._"

Bruce lifted his head. "Valerie, when did that happen?"

She shrugged, and turned off the TV. "I don't remember exactly. The second or third date, I guess, remember when we brought escorts with us?"

He frowned. "I told you it was a bad idea."

"I think it was a wonderful one," she shrugged again, and gave the reports another look. "Bruce—"she started, "We need to talk with Selina."

"No—" Bruce objected as soon as the words left her mouth, "Absolutely not."

"If we're going to do this," she countered, waving at the reports, "We need help. We don't even know who they are. Not to mention that Dahlia is running free, and we have no idea where she is."

"Neither do they," Bruce pointed out.

"_This is," Selina answered, as the two criminals stopped on either side of her, "an assembly to form our own Council." She smiled. "The Justice League."_

"_What do you mean?" Valerie asked, her eyebrows furrowed._

"_If we're going after the Council," Selina replied, "We'll need to pool our resources."_

"_What is the Council?" Bruce asked._

_This time it was Alex, the man formerly second in command of the Gotham attachment of the organization in question, who answered, "We don't know for sure," he admitte__d. __"It's an international crime ring, but it also isn't."_

"_How?" Bruce rasped. "Even the databases of Interpol __don't __have __any__thing like that on record," Valerie said at the same time._

"_They are an ensemble of secret cells across six continents," Derrick Malkin, the racketeer, joined the conversation, "and the Council is the governing body."_

_Valerie still couldn't believe something like this—a crime ring—could exist without the knowledge of any __law __agency, as she knew just how hard it was to avoid the law, but Bruce was obviously in accordance with the idea, possibly because he'd had firsthand knowledge of just such an organization. "In Gotham what do they do? Is it only sex trafficking?"_

"_I don't know," Alex admitted__ again,__ "But I know that Gotham isn't their main playground."_

_Nodding, Derrick Malkin agreed. "Yes. It's more in the Middle East and North Africa__, Asia, the old countries.__"_

"_How do you know about them?" Bruce asked what was also on her mind, taking a step toward the racketeer._

_The man remained unaffected with the threating gesture. "Tavian," he only said, "He used to do business for Madame in Ukraine and Russia."_

_Valerie sighed. "_Who_ is Madame?"_

_Alex answered, "Andrei used to call the Supreme, Father," he mused, "So if the head of the Council is __the __Father, then Madame is __the __Mother."_

_Bruce looked at Selina. "What else do you know about the operations in Gotham?"_

"_Not much," Selina replied, "Holly told me a couple of things. And Alex says—"she shot a glance at the man, "Andrei used to use a guy nicknamed __the __Charming Devil to smuggle the girls, but the rest—" She stopped, her eyes hardened with the unspoken fury with the lack of knowledge. "Did Gordon find Dahlia?"_

"_No," Bruce said, and turned to Alex. "Do you have any idea where she could be?"_

"_Yes, the higher ups in the organization had multiple safe houses," the blonde man answered, "But I've already checked all of them." He paused for a second, then shook his head. "Clean."_

"_Make a folder with everything you know," Bruce ordered then, as he reached to her. "I'll look into it."_

_Selina moved like lighting and grabbed the gloved hand on her upper arm. "No," __S__e__lina__ hissed, "We're involved, too."_

_For a moment, Valerie really pitied Selina. Bruce pulled his hand away, fixing a glare on her. "Make the folder, Selina," he ordered again._

"_You can't exclude us," Selina said through her teeth. "You need us."_

_His eyes moved to her company; one blonde—one dark man; one racketeer, one former—whatever he was, and he shook his head. "I work alone."_

_Even though the answer was curt, rasped in certainty, Selina wasn't one to back down easily. "What about her?"_

_Bruce walked in on her, and hissed back. "She's _different._"_

"_What about _others_?"_

"_I trust them."_

"_Trust me, too," Selina cried back._

_This time Bruce didn't answer, only grabbed her attaching to his belt before leaping out._

* * *

Sitting in her new office at her newly purchased nightclub, Chill, Selina listened to Alex as he debriefed, "Well, as far as I can tell, no one is looking for us," he finished, his voice suggesting the abnormality of that fact, then shrugged. "Dahlia must be preparing something."

Her fists clenched, as she frowned. "We need to catch her. Before we do anything else we need to get her out of the way."

"Any idea how to do that, Ms. Kyle?" Derrick Malkin asked from the other side of her desk. She stayed silent. Releasing a subtle sigh the racketeer climbed to his feet. "This was a good idea, and I _really_ would like to help, but you must be aware that your League isn't functioning."

Selina's expression soured. "He _will_ come around," she hissed.

Alex's eyebrow rose. "He will? Selina, he's _Batman_."

"And?"

"And," Alex said bluntly, "You're a thief, he's a racketeer, and I—I—well," he let out a sigh. "You all know what I was."

"He needs us," Selina repeated with conviction, "Did you prepare the folder he asked for?"

Alex nodded. "Yeah, we don't have much, but it's a start." He paused and with a searching look asked, "Are you going to give it to him?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't be a fool. It's our only bargaining chip." The folder was her only leverage, as long as she had the knowledge he needed, he needed her, and he would come around, he had to. His code of honor wouldn't let him do otherwise. "If we lose it, then we're done."

The men nodded, as she stood up. Alex climbed to his feet, too. She turned to him. "Where are you going?" he asked as Derrick's eyes followed them closely.

"I didn't think I needed to give you reports on my activities."

He walked closer. "Selina, the last time you acted like this you ended up walking into a trap. This is all of our business now." In response she glared at him. "If you want us to be a team you need to act like we are one."

"Fine," she grated, "Fine. I'm going to see someone," she raised her hand before they could speak, "and no, don't ask me who. I _can't_ tell—don't follow me either," she warned sternly.

Alex grimaced as Derrick nodded. Suddenly she felt exposed, at being forced to trust them, but Alex was right, they were together in this, regardless of how much she might hate it.

Before she left Chill, she decided this League of theirs needed some serious group bonding activities.

* * *

"I can't believe you guys married without telling us," Jill pouted, pushing the cup away from her, and exclaimed, "I was the maid of honor, you can't get married without your maid of honor!"

"I know," Valerie said, giving her an emphatic smile, "Sorry. It was just a…spur of the moment thing" she concluded weakly.

"We didn't even have your bachelorette party," the blonde girl pouted further. Valerie exhaled a breathy sigh.

"How about a non-bachelorette party then," she offered.

Jill immediately perked up. "Hmm, a non-bachelorette party," she said, "That doesn't sound too bad."

As the young woman nodded at herself, a familiar voice came from behind her back, "That sounds _terrific_." Valerie closed her eyes. Selina moved around the table. "You didn't tell me you were throwing a party," Selina remarked, her tone clearly indicating that she was taken aback.

Valerie didn't answer, only glared at her, as her eyes check around. Selina followed her glance, and shook her head. "I'm alone," she assured.

"So you think," Valerie hissed. Jill threw her a glance then they exchanged looks. Valerie turned to the girls. "Girls, could you please excuse us a minute?" she asked, giving them a small smile. "I need to talk with—my friend."

The girls nodded and moved to another table as Selina sat on the chair opposite of her.

As soon as the girls left, Valerie leaned forward. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I need to talk to you."

"You can't come to me like this Selina!" she protested, "While I'm with my friends—"

"Friends?" Selina's eyes skipped to the college students, and she laughed. "I see you found your own entourage."

"You're jeopardizing us," Valerie warned. "I can't afford to be seen with you. There are a lot of people that know about you now."

Selina bowed her head. "I know," she admitted. "And I wouldn't come if it wasn't important, but we need to talk."

"Selina," she said, letting out a sigh. "I can't change his mind. Bruce isn't a team player."

"You're wrong," Selina objected. "There is Alfred, Fox…you—"

"He trusts us," she countered.

"You told me he cares about me," Selina reminded her.

"Yes, yes he does," Valerie agreed. "But you're asking for more than caring. You're asking him to trust you with—everything."

"He trusted you," Selina pointed out. "And I've never betrayed him the way you did."

Another sigh escaped. "Selina, that was a different time. When he trusted me he was a dead man walking, he had nothing." She leaned forward. "Last night, he almost suggested that he should hang up his armor. Selina," she repeated, "We got _married_ two days ago. Bruce isn't the same man who trusted me as his last hope. He has many things to care for now, and many things to lose. You're asking him to jeopardize everything."

Selina didn't counter, only looked at her, her eyes narrowed in consideration. Valerie knew she understood, Selina had been always the smartest of them, and she knew the raven haired woman had learned what caring for someone meant, Valerie had seen her with Holly. "Besides," Valerie continued then, not even sure why she was doing it. "I called him, Selina. In that warehouse, instead of calling the police or the mob, I called _him_ for help, even when I thought there was a very good possibility that he would kill me." Valerie halted for a second, as Selina's eyes grew even heavier. "He trusted me because he saw something in me," she said at last.

"He told me once I was better than—this."

"Then prove that he was right," Valerie countered heatedly. "Prove to him that you're more. Prove him that you really care, prove to him that this is more than just about revenge."

"I called it _justice_."

"Then prove it, Selina."

"How?" she asked.

"Give us the information you have," she said, "Give us the folder."

Selina let out a laugh, and shook her head. "It's the only thing I have."

"Yes," Valerie agreed, as she stood up. Taking her bag from the table she said, "Sometimes you can only win when you didn't have anything."

* * *

Countless miles away from Gotham, his three—guests sat around the only table in his run down place, looking at each other over the ramshackle table, while Sean played the willing host for them. Perhaps he should have brought something to eat on the table as well.

"So this Felicia Bale and Cameron Reese is the same person," the dark haired man, Thomas Elliot, noted in a clear aristocratic accent that was also saying he wouldn't care for snacks, and continued, "But what I don't understand is what's she got to do with Selina?"

"Well," Sean said, as his eyes lowered to the photo on the phone screen. "I don't know any Selina—"

The man cut him off, "Good for you."

"But Fi has always had an easy time making friends."

"Oh, yeah," Jeremy, his hacker _friend, _agreed with him, letting out a snicker. "All right, guys, since we all agreed to come here tonight—" His eyes traveled to each man at the table, "I believe all of us need to spill the beans to solve this—mystery." Sean raised his eyebrow, as Thomas and _his_ company, Chuck Hollis, exchanged a glance but then everyone nodded. "For the sake of clarity, I suggest we start from the beginning." The hacker turned to him, and gestured, "Sean, please."

"Felicia contacted me last year around this time," he started, tossing another glance at the pictures on the table. "I hadn't seen her for a while. But that's Fi for you. She doesn't stay in one place long."

The thin haired man, Chuck Hollis, glanced to the photos, too. "If she is Cameron Reese," he asked, "isn't she supposed to be in police custody?"

A smile crept onto Sean's lips. "We don't like the police."

Hollis's eyes turned to him as Thomas urged, "Why did she come to you?"

"She was looking for someone," he replied ambiguously.

"Who?" Thomas asked.

Giving another look at the photos, Sean decided to keep that information to himself. Felicia and him... they had always had a rocky relationship. They might have stabbed each other in the back repeatedly, and used each other without any guilt, but he was not going to sell her to these men that he only knew by name. They had never been good friends, and he was still smarting from the bruises her Muscle had given him over the information these men were now asking for, but they had been good _partners_, mostly. If something _had to_ be done, he would be damned if he let anyone other than himself do it.

So he said, "An old friend of ours," as Jeremy slanted him a look but didn't interrupt. Fi had been a good partner to him, too, perhaps even _better_, if the rumors were correct. "He had a debt, and she wanted to collect it."

"Name," Hollis asked.

"I prefer his name remained unmentioned," he said stiffly, "he hardly matters in our tale. The man is off grid. She didn't find him."

Both his visitors nodded, albeit suspiciously. "What happened next?" Thomas asked.

"Uh—well, we parted ways, then, and didn't hear about her until you guys busted me this week."

Hollis turned to Jeremy. "Then months later, she emerged, and asked you to look for me," he stated.

"Well, yes," the hacker confirmed. "She didn't give your name, only wanted me to look around. I at first thought she was sniffing around, but after she learned who you were, she dropped it. She called a few weeks later, to pay me, but didn't want to proceed."

Hollis scowled. "But you got suspicious."

"Felicia is a woman of many needs, and she doesn't give up them easily," Jeremy said, shrugging.

"She asked you about the twin cats, too?" Hollis continued.

Jeremy's face soured as he snapped. "You know this has started to sound like Spanish Inquisition." He leaned back. "The thing is we don't know anything about your Selina Kyle, and as for Fi, she's just like that. She probably ran across her, and got her into her web—"

"So you think she's in Gotham," Hollis asked, as Thomas scowled.

"That doesn't seem very likely," Sean interrupted, "I heard there is a bounty on her."

"Because of Batman," Thomas cut in, making the statement a question.

Sean shrugged; even the thought of something like that really happening was absurd to him. A man dressed like a bat. Lunatics. Though, there were other things to consider, too, things he couldn't find the answers to right now, not when he had this much attention on himself. His hand briefly touched the faint scar over lips where his skin had been split months ago by the heavy fist that mysterious man.

Thomas turned to his own company. "What about these twin cats?" he asked. "Did Selina steal them?"

"Yeah," Hollis admitted, "She cleared them away in a party then sent them to me. We made a deal."

"You've been in touch with her since our case in London?" Thomas asked.

"No—" Hollis shook his head. "We were in contact last year." He paused. "Thomas, we haven't been conspiring against you. Selina never even mentioned you."

Sean thought Hollis had said it to ease the man's mind but Thomas's face hardened even more. "I see." Then he turned to Jeremy. "It's clear how we've ended up here," he stated, and then gave the hacker a look. "Why did you come to see—" the man's head tilted at him, "him."

Sean turned to the hacker, too. That was going to be interesting. "I think," Jeremy said carefully, "It's a coincidence. I discovered a few bugs in my bunker, and I have reason to believe that they're connected to Sean." Well, it wasn't a lie, not exactly, as they both knew now that the bugs were related to him. How was the question now, but the men in front of them didn't need to know that.

Thomas's lips pressed into a thin line. "A coincidence," he remarked, voice nothing more than a raspy whisper.

Jeremy gave him his best leer, seizing him up and down, then fixed his eyes on his. "A very happy one, I say." Neither his look nor his words left any room for deliberation, so Sean wasn't surprised the man's eyes narrowed slightly.

He jumped immediately on the wagon. "Jeremy," he grunted, "What did I tell you? Do _not_ hit on guests in my house."

"That was _hardly_ a hit," the hacker retorted.

Hollis cleared his throat. "Err—"he said, "Do you have any contact numbers for this Felicia—or Cameron Reese?"

Jeremy laughed. "If only life was that easy," he said gleefully, and shook his head. "I'm sorry. But I'll let you know if she calls again." Both men must know it was a lie, a big fat lie, but neither of them voiced it, only nodded back.

Thomas stood. "So—we'll see you again, I guess."

Jeremy gave him a leer again. "That I can't wait for."

Giving them a final look, the pair went out, and as soon as the door closed behind them, Sean went to check it through the peep hole and saw them walking away. He opened his mouth but Jeremy raised his hand as a warning, and wrote down 'bugs' on the notepad on the table. He first brought out a palm jammer of his pocket, and started to check the room, meticulously, up and down, and only when he was sure that all was clear, he shook his head, and exclaimed, "I _can't_ believe it. She _really_ did it."

Sean nodded. "We need to find her before those men learn about Christian," he said. "Even if they can't find him, they will find out what she was looking for—then they will put the dots together."

Jeremy scowled. "Will they? I mean, I myself can barely believe it."

"Is there any other logical explanation?" Sean asked. "I heard Christian has done this thing a few times before."

Jeremy nodded. "So I heard."

"So can you track her down?" Sean asked.

Jeremy let out a sigh, and Sean could understand the sentiment. Jeremy and Sean, rushing the _rescue_... it sounded—absurd, even unworldly, but it seemed there was indeed an honor among thieves, among other things. His lips cracked a fraction, and unconsciously he touched the scar over them.

"At first I couldn't," Jeremy replied, "but now that I know the point of origin, yeah…" He nodded after a split pause. "I can trace the phone she called from."

"Well then, sir," he said, "Get started. I'm not sure if they bought even a thing we said."

* * *

Leaving the alley behind, Thomas stopped and looked at the former ALR investigator. "A coincidence," he snarled, "A coincidence."

"They're hiding something," Hollis said.

"I would be surprised if it was just 'something'," Thomas countered, and gave the man a look. "Your deal with Selina—"

"—is off," he cut him off. "She's compromised me."

Thomas nodded. "Then let's make another deal."

"Like what, Mr. Elliot?"

"Tell me more about that twin cat job—" Thomas set the conditions, "Then I'll help you to find this woman, Felicia Bale."

"What makes you think I'd search for her?"

Thomas laughed. "I would, Hollis," Thomas said, "If I were you."

"Very well," Hollis agreed, extending his hand. At the same time, a message arrived on Thomas' phone. Shaking the man's hand, he walked away, and checked the message.

_Selina bought your shares in Chill from Derrick, come back here, now. Dylan._

Thomas laughed; the webs she had weaved were clearing with each step as he marched forward. This time, though, in return Selina was going to get what she deserved.

* * *

Waiting alone for Selina to get back from wherever she had gone, Alex sat in the main office in Chill, and looked around. The racketeer had left a few minutes after Selina, but Alex had opted to linger. It wasn't like he had any business to attend to.

He turned on the TV set and watched the security cameras, the bartenders as they prepared for another busy night, the wait staff carrying stuff around. The nightclub was modern and minimalist and he liked it, but then Alex liked anything that was different from Molten these days.

His eyes traveled around the room again, and suddenly he wondered what Selina was going to say when she found him waiting for her. She had begun to be much more _open-minded_ to his company, at least she didn't bite his head off every moment anymore; the wonders of being ready to face death for someone.

And he had been ready, he had really been ready, Alex thought, and that was probably why he was still here, waiting for her, because she had asked him, asked him to stay. Heaving a sigh, he closed the security cameras screen, and switched the monitor to cable TV, still firmly sitting on the couch.

He flipped through the channels fast, trying to find something light and easy; he had had enough drama for the time being. He passed by the news channels and sports channels, and settled on one of the talk shows. The reporters were going on about some party of George Clooney's from last week, something of an event that couldn't have been missed, then they passed on to the latest news.

Three hosts appeared on the screen, and one of them started with a rueful expression on her features. "_It's an indeed very sad day for all Gotham's ladies,_" she said, and remarked dramatically, "_The dreams of fairy tale endings with Gotham's Prince are no more." S_he turned to the cameras. The screen cut in half, and two photos appeared on the left side. He recognized Prince of Gotham as he gave cameras an aloof grin, and the woman—Alex stopped, straightened, staring at her face.

The snapshots passed through his eyes rapidly, Selina and another woman sharing drinks in the tea shops, smirking at each other, two wild animals... And the woman, face hidden behind a mask, kicking and fighting, and taking a bullet that had been meant for him..._ "As you might have heard, the news was dropped on us like a flash of lighting; the prince of Gotham married his girlfriend, Valerie West in a Las Vegas ceremony two days ago._"

Another snapshot flashed in his eyes... _We came to rescue you on our wedding night..._

The day he had first seen Selina, the day Cartier had been bombed, the day Batman was shot... then Bruce Wayne walking into Selina's apartment, his expression grim, looking nothing like the smarmy man they always heard about... He looked at the same smarmy figure on the screen, and slowly, he closed the TV, his heart drumming.

As he settled the remote control on the cushion, Selina walked in, her face clouded, but not surprised or worked up to find him there, sitting on her couch. She threw her clutch next to the remote control. "Did you prepare the folder?" she asked.

Alex barely could raise his eyebrow. "Yes—" the word rushed out.

"Good," she nodded thoughtfully. "We need to prove our worth, Alex." She gave him a look, and scowled. "What?" she asked. "What's with that face?"

He shook his head. "Nothing," then he smiled at her. "Nothing at all."

* * *

The bushes had withered and died; no amount of tending could have saved her roses. Madame looked at them, her head cocked, then smiled and turned away.

Madame wasn't one to grieve for the things that had fulfilled their purpose. "Rosé," the old man greeted her, his voice silky, as he approached her slowly, limping. She held out her hand with the great serpent. He took it, turned it up, and kissed her palm with the tenderness of a young lover.

"Roman," Madame cooed in a perfect imitation of youth, and smiled further. "It's been long, my friend." He released her hand. "But I was expecting you."

"Of course," the Supreme said, bowing his head. "But you must understand how dire it has become."

Madame nodded. "Of course. What did you do with your little traitor?"

"I sent her into hiding," he replied. "I don't want any implications until the Meeting."

She smiled, and shot back, her voice still coated with tenderness, "You have a very different way of showing it, my dear."

"I only play the game," he countered.

"So do we all," she agreed. Her brows furrowed as she halted for a second. "This _bad boy_—" she asked, a little bit intrigued, a little bit amused, but a lot more irritated, "Will he be a nuisance?"

"He's already a nuisance," Roman admitted, "But if he turns to a _problem_—" He paused, his thin lips parting with a thin smile. "Then we'll give him a nuisance."

* * *

Across the city, beyond the Palisades, on the border of Gotham, in the ever haunted castle, the Joker smiled at the medic in front of him, then started once again laughing at the joke he alone could see.

* * *

_All right, guys, buckle up, this is gonna be a bumpy read, as the Joker returns! :)_

___The quote at the beginning is from Sandman, Season of Mists, where I took the title for this one._

___If someone might be interested to help me with a new book cover, I'd be extremely happy. _


	2. Tabula Rasa

_**Chapter Two: **_

_**Tabula Rasa**_

* * *

After the majestic Molten, the cottage seemed remarkably plain. It looked like one of those landscape paintings from the walls of middle-class houses; the wooden veranda looked old and sorrowful in the wide wild meadow that stopped at the lake in the front. The wind ran through the tall trees, shaking their willowy branches, and making the whole scene seem extremely peaceful, but it only made Donnie extremely pissed.

He was bored, sitting duck, in hiding, he was bored but that wasn't the problem. The problem was his company. And that feel of the doubt, like acid in his stomach. Had he backed the wrong horse? Yes, Andrei had died, but he had a suspicion that this wasn't what Dahlia had planned. They had their home, they had lost their job, they had lost their girls, were forced to go to hiding... and for what? For a stupid cottage. He grimaced. It had happened fast, and he had needed to make a decision, and apparently he had chosen wrong.

Stabbing the butt of his cigarette into the wood railing, Donnie slanted a look at Dahlia. She had been in the same position for half an hour, standing motionless against the railing, her eyes riveted on the emptiness of the lake. Sick of it, he asked her, "What are you doing?"

Without averting her eyes, she answered, "I'm listening."

"To what?" Donnie asked, narrowing his eyes.

"To the wind." Dahlia replied, and he regretted asking. Dahlia had told him once that years and years ago, her hometown had burned her great-grandmother at a stake and Donnie momentarily felt that they had been right to do it.

"What does the wind say, Dahlia?" he asked, as he threw the butt of the cigarette toward the lake, and watched it as it twirled in the breeze.

"It says to be prepared, Donnie," Dahlia answered, as her eyes finally drew away from the water. "There is a storm coming."

Donnie nodded. He didn't need to listen to anything to feel that there was a storm coming, everyone knew it. The problem was where they were going to be when it finally hit. "But we can't ride on it," he said ruefully, his eyes turning to the water.

"No," Dahlia agreed, "But I decided that it doesn't mean we have to wait for it." His head snapped up, his eyes narrowed in scrutiny, and just then he saw the old Dahlia, the Dahlia he had known, the Ice Queen. She smiled cruelly, her lips curved with her old amused contempt. "I want _her_, Donnie. Proceed—" she paused as her tone shifted to a deadly sneer, "—with extreme prejudice." Donnie nodded. "Can you do it?"

He smiled back. He could do it. He could definitely do that, voluntarily.

* * *

First week of married life and they'd already returned to normal. Imagine how it would be after the honeymoon! If they _ever_ managed to get one. Biting the sandwich in her hand, Valerie walked into the study. "Hey, what's up?" she asked.

Closing the folder he had been looking at, Bruce smiled at her as she approached the desk. "I just wanted to see you—" standing up, he pulled her closer, "so I could do this." He placed a chaste kiss on her lips. "And this." His lips moved to her cheek as his other hand drew her hair back from her shoulder.

She giggled, leaning on him. Maybe it wasn't so _normal,_ after all. "Missed me?"

"Yeah," he replied, "Where have you been?"

"You know, the usual," she shrugged. "I was checking the databases." She stopped and grimaced. "Are you really sure NSA won't catch us?"

"They won't," he assured her, "I wrote the program myself, and Fox went over it. Safe and sound."

"Okay."

"Let's eat something—real," Bruce offered, taking the sandwich from her hand. "I'm famished."

She took her sandwich back, and shook her head. "Can't, sorry." She took another bite. "I promised Jill I'm gonna see her after lunch—" She slanted a look at her wrist, "for which, I'm already late."

"Another date?" Bruce asked, with what Valerie could swear was a little pout.

She smiled, and kissed his cheek. "We're going to look for a place for my non-bachelorette party."

"Non-bachelorette party?"

"Jill is totally crushed that she couldn't be my maid of honor," she explained, "so I came up with it."

"Hmm—your golden heart again."

She pointed at him. "Right on that one."

"So—are you gonna make another exception?" he asked.

"Exception?"

"You know, for being _traditional_?"

"Oh," she said, then smiled at him meaningfully. "Well, every girl can make an exception for strippers, darling."

"Right…"

She laughed. "Besides, it's more for Jill."

"Right," Bruce repeated.

She grinned at him. "Yup."

Returning her smile, he took her hand. "Come," he pulled to the study. "There is something I want you to see."

"I'm going to be late," Valerie pouted.

Bruce continued to drag her. "You'll be fashionably late."

"Oh," she said, as her eyes caught the folder on the table. She lifted her head up. "Another present?"

"You could say that," he said ambiguously, then halted for a second. "Actually, it's more of a surprise."

She gave him a look, her lips curved up with a smile. "What is it, Bruce?"

He opened the folder, and showed her the contents. Her eyebrows arched first, then she titled her head and gave him a searching look. "What are these?"

He glanced down at the sketches on the table. The pages had the same figure; someone that looked like her, sleekly drawn in black, with red lips, clad in a suit that looked suspiciously like a corset, but armored. "Well," Bruce shrugged, "Fox called it the Suit."

"He drew these?" Valerie asked, flipping through the papers.

"With some help."

She looked at the mid-heeled thigh high boots, and snickered. "I'm _sure_ the footwear was all yours."

He gave her a grin. "Well, yeah." Then his features lost that almost-goofy expression. "I meant to it be a—surprise for you, but then I thought you would like to see it first."

Finding his eyes, Valerie held them. "So you made me a suit?" she asked.

He stared back at her. "If you're certain about this—and I know you are—then we need to make some—adjustments." His eyes grew heavier as his jaw clenched. "As a good of an idea as the homemade flak jacket was, it was hardly functional."

She puckered her lips. "It stopped the bullet."

"Hmm—it wasn't very fashionable then."

Well, she had to agree on that. She nodded, making a vague gesture with her hand then leaned forward to inspect the drawings. "We have a problem," she declared, pulling back.

He gave her a blank look. "Call signs," she clarified. "I mean it's obvious I'll call you _hubby_—" Her head titled up for a split second to throw at him a grin, "but _wife_ doesn't have the same ring."

"Ah—" Bruce sighed.

"Yeah—" She looked at the drawings again, and took a pen from the table. "So if we draw this just here—" She sketched something that looked like a bat on the chest. "There—the problem's solved. Batwoman."

He laughed. "_Batwoman?_"

"Yeah," she smiled back. "Ugly, I know. But since you have it—so—"

He took the pen back from her fingers. "Let's go with—Vi."

"Hmm," she hummed, "V for Valerie." She nodded. "Doesn't sound too bad."

"No, it doesn't," he agreed, taking the sketches back, and looked at her. "Now, I'd like to settle the terms, too."

She angled her head to the side. "Ah—_of course_. Beware Greeks bearing gifts," she remarked dramatically, then nodded. "All right, terms. Let's hear them."

"You won't come to patrol—"he started.

"Agreed." She never wanted that anyway.

"You'll come only when I decide," he continued.

"Declined. The choice is _mine_."

"And I must _concur_ with it…"

She flopped on the chair, and let out a heavy sigh. "This is going to be a long bargain."

* * *

"Ms. Kyle," Andrews greeted her in the secluded lounge of Papermoon, his mouth pressed into a thin line. "I'm glad that you _finally_ decided to grace me with your presence."

Sitting at the table, Selina scowled at him. "What is it, Mr. Andrews?" she asked, "I already told you our deal is off."

"I was hoping we could talk about it," the skinny man said, the earlier frustration giving way to forced pleasantry. He filled the glass in front of her with wine. "I've just got this—"

"Mr. Andrews," she cut him off, "When I say something, I mean it. Our deal is over," she repeated curtly, her hands resting on the table.

The gentle look on his face soured, and he threw the napkin in his hand down. "Why?"

"I don't need to explain myself to you, Mr. Andrews," she hissed.

"You do," he countered. "I'm your partner."

"You _were_ my partner," Selina corrected, standing up.

"What happened?" the bald man asked.

She smiled at him. "Let's say I found better partners." Above the edge of the table, she gave him a look. "Don't call me, Mr. Andrews. I don't do the whole staying friends after break ups thing."

Strutting purposely out of Papermoon, she looked at the busy street, and let her feet carry her to Central Park. Sitting on the bench she had shared with Derrick Malkin, Selina thought maybe she had exaggerated things a little with Andrews. She hadn't found any new partners, not yet. There was Alex, yes, but Alex had always been there. The thought was weird, almost unrealistic, her and him, being besties, but the world had become a weird place since she had set foot in this goddamned city. After all who could have thought Valerie, Valerie of all people, could have offered a solution to her—problems.

And what a s_olution _it was... Her features crumpled. She couldn't do it. She just couldn't, couldn't give up everything she had. It wasn't her, it just wasn't her. There must be some other way, a way to prove her worth, their worth, there must be another way.

There was always another way, always. She just needed to find it.

* * *

"Mr. Wayne, Mrs. Wayne," the doorman greeted them as they passed through the doors of Wayne Building. Valerie stopped to give the taciturn man a look, but before she could open her mouth, Bruce grabbed her arm and pulled her inside. "Are you _really_ going to correct them every time?"

She gave the look to him instead. "_Yeah_."

"Valerie—"

"Hey," she said, as they walked to the private elevators, and she saw Jenny padding to them hurriedly from the opposite side, holding her tablet securely against her chest. "It took me more than a freaking year to accept it, okay? I'm not going to drop it just because of people's habits."

He shrugged. "I'm just saying it's a futile exercise," he said at the same time that Jenny caught them. The woman smiled brightly. "Mr. Wayne, Mrs. Wayne," Valerie let out a big huff. Bowing his head, Bruce smiled. The PDA looked at them, and said— "Err—congratulations."

"Thank you, Jennifer," Bruce greeted her as they walked into the elevator. "Any misbehaving while we were away?"

The blonde woman smiled faintly, as she pressed the button for the top level. "I'm afraid, no, Mr. Wayne. One of the guys in IT caught Mr. Smith's rather endearing correspondence to Mrs. Colin—" she lowered her voice into a conspiratory whisper, "But you didn't hear it from me."

Valerie's eyes widened a little, as she exclaimed, "Mr. Smith and Mrs. Colin?!" She smiled. "Oh my."

"Yeah—" the PDA nodded, hiding her own smile. Then she turned to her boss, her eyes cast down at her tablet. "Ms. Tate has requested a meeting about the campaign you wanted to start for the Foundation. Change the Future. Pearson Chemicals have been calling, too but Mr. Fox wanted us to wait for you. Do you require a meeting? They seemed in quite in a hurry. And about the honeymoon—"

Valerie interrupted, "We'll do it later," she said, no trace of worry or sadness in her voice, instead a smile touching in it, "Apparently we have a _lot_ of business to attend first."

Lifting her head up, Jenny nodded. Valerie knew the PDA was one of the few people in the world that knew that there was more to her playboy billionaire boss and his bodyguard—wife. "Then I'll arrange the meeting for after lunch?"

"You do that," Bruce said stepping out of the elevator. "Please, let Mr. Fox know that we're waiting for him."

Jenny nodded again. "Already done," she said, and smiled at them again, hugging her tablet on her chest. "Mr. Wayne, Mrs. Wayne—"

"It's still West," Valerie interrupted, and Bruce almost rolled his eyes.

The blessed woman on the other hand didn't even blink, her smile never wavering. "Mrs. West," she corrected, "Congratulations, again. I wish you the best."

"Thanks, Jenny," Valerie returned and sat on Bruce's chair behind the desk as the young woman left the office. "She's just earned a big bonus this Christmas," she said, rocking on the back wheels of the chair.

Bruce smiled. She twirled around the chair, and let her eyes wander around the room. "Sooo," she drawled out lazily, after her turn completed, "Just for clarification—" She smiled at him. "I _am_ the Empress of this Empire now?"

Bruce shook his head at her, but concluded, kneeling in front of her legs. "Valerie, whatever I have, whatever's left in me, it's all yours."

She poked him with her foot, smiling. "Hey, don't forget the rule; no_ intense_."

He smiled at her back. She stood up. "But this is worthy of a celebration," she declared. "Bring the booze, hubby."

Wordless, he obliged, walking to the wet bar in the corner, and bringing back two champagne glasses, and a bottle of—water. Valerie gaped at it. "You've gotta kidding me."

He smirked at her. "Don't forget the other rule," he shot back. "Meds."

A wolfish smirk appeared on her lips. "Ah, but I'm sure you _can_ make an exception for me, too, darling," she retorted then declared, "I'm your prerogative." Bruce cocked an eyebrow up. "Speaking of which," she drawled, "it reminds me of something else."

He took a step closer. "Like what?"

She twirled him around and pushed him back on the chair. "Like trying every position known to the mankind."

"Hmm—" Bruce hummed, leaning back, as Valerie straddled him. "This has really become too convenient."

She smirked wilder, her hands taking the glasses and the water from him. "It's just basic categorization."

"You didn't have a problem last night," Bruce remarked with a grin. "In fact I'd say I had a spectacular view from under you."

She leaned forward, dropping the items on the carpeted floor, and whispered above his lips. "But what if I make a back slide during my treatment, and we can't finish our categorization—"

His eyes bore into hers. "You won't make a back slide."

"What if I did?"

"You won't."

She pulled an inch back, and stared at him, her eyes losing the ferocity, and the wolfish smirk fading into a gentle smile. She raised her hand, and caressed his hair. Then she leaned forward to place a chaste kiss on his lips. "I love you," she whispered, "Never forget it, okay? Even if one day I do," she said, her voice now earnest and serious, "you don't." She twirled herself to climb down off him, but before her feet touched at the carpeted floor, he grabbed her waist, and pulled her back.

His lips found hers, and this time she didn't retreat.

* * *

Her mind preoccupied, Selina walked to Derrick Malkin's residence, she wasn't even sure why. She had to talk to him, she needed his resources, she needed every scrap of information he had on the Council. She was going to build a new life for Holly, a better life, with no threats, no dangers, no one would hurt her again… Then she heard it.

_Tak-tak-tak—whump—whump—tak-tak-tak—whump-whump..._

The tak-tak-taks were hers, as her red soled heels clicked on the hard cement, but the soft footsteps weren't. Ah, she sighed mentally as she lowered her pace to a leisured rhythm, feeling much, much better. It had started. And if it had started, that meant they would pull toward each other once again, like they had in Molten.

She smiled, and not even casting a glance back, she dove in a back alley. The streets of this city belonged to her now, every back alley, every dead-end, every corner, Catwoman had this city. The racketeer's house was only a few blocks away, and if she could delay the upcoming assault just until the last moment, they could start playing again.

Smiling inwardly, she thought maybe Alex was right. As sick as it might be, perhaps God really loved them. She hastened her pace, and picked another street, then another, confusing her route with every new direction. The footsteps behind her quickened too and soon Selina felt the man just behind her neck, as the same time Malkin's roof appeared over the horizon.

A hand grasped her, and the sharp edge of a knife rested at her neck, but she smiled, and started to count. Another hand covered her mouth, all for naught, it wasn't like she was going to call for help. No, she wasn't going to call for help. Help needed to come to her on its own.

"You little kitten," the man whispered from behind, voice sick and reeking over her ear, "Are you lost?"

Selina felt relieved. Apparently the man didn't know about her. It could have meant that he was one of the countless _criminals_ that raided the city, but Selina doubted it. If he were part of the city's criminals, then he would know where they were now, and what that meant. The notion, though, a son of a bitch hunting in the darkness, looking for easy prey, boiled her blood, but it also sharpened her objective.

Playing the part of the desperate prey, she bit the hand over her lips. Her head collided with the wall. "You bitch," the man bellowed behind her, as her nails scratched over the plaster; one minute, she thought, counting inwardly. "You bitch," the man spat again, "I was going to go soft on you—" his hand drew her head back, tangled into her hair, "but if you want it to be like this—_all right_."

One and half minute. "Please," she whimpered, her voice trembling forcibly, much like her body. He let go of her head, and his hand crept down then slipped between her legs. "They warned me that you're dangerous," the man taunted her, as he grabbed her. Her body tensing, a hiss stopped on the tip of her tongue at the last second, "not like this—"

As she heard the zipper open, she forced herself to stand still, whimpering, and trembling, but her back still to him; two minutes. "Please, please—" The man leaned on her, as his hands circled her waist. He started to unbutton her pants.

She buckled against his grip, the knife at her neck pressed on her skin harder. "Shh, don't fight," he smiled against her ear, his tongue brushing over it, and Selina wanted to rip it out. "You'll like it, too."

Her first button opened and she decided that was her cue, whether the expected audience arrived or not, that was it, she was not going to have this man _touch_ her, then with the corner of her eyes, she saw Derrick Malkin running toward them with two of his men on his tail.

Catwoman might own the city, but these streets still belonged to Derrick Malkin, his men always kept an eye on every corner. This was his home, his domain, and no one would hurt a woman in his streets. She had been right, much like everyone said, Derrick Malkin was a good man.

The other man on the other hand was a piece of shit, and he was going to get what he deserved. Abruptly she held the man's hand, and held it tighter as the motions created a slick wound on her neck. The man halted, looking at the knife. "What—" he rasped—"What the hell—"

She whipped around and four inches heels pressed into his foot, but Selina didn't give him a chance to recuperate, she pulled the knife back and threw it away.

"When they warned you, you fool," she hissed, advancing on him, as the man took steps back, "You should have listened to them."

As Derrick's pace lowered to a halt, she took the man down in two swift kicks, then smiled down sweetly at him. "For the record," she propped her foot on his crotch, "You _won't_ like this."

She pressed her heel down. The men behind her flinched, as her assailant howled with pain, and Selina smiled even more sweetly, then turned to the racketeer.

His face was expressionless, his eyes solely fixed on her, and the blood slipping through the narrow split in her neck. He approached her. "Ms. Kyle, are you okay?"

She nodded briskly, and titled her head toward the man lying down, crying and whimpering. "Someone sent him after me," she said, as she buttoned herself back up. Derrick's eyes remained on her face. "I want to interrogate him, somewhere safe."

He nodded, and gestured to one of the men who had come with him. "Charlie," he ordered.

The man nodded wordlessly, and grabbed hold of the piece of shit with his other friend, carrying him under his armpits. Derrick turned to her again. "When they told me someone was attacked—I wouldn't have guessed it was you—" His eyes caught again on her wound. "We need to tend this. Please." Turning aside, he waved his hand vaguely toward his house.

Selina started walking. "I was coming to see you," she said. "I wanted to talk."

"About what?"

"About—things," she replied ambiguously, but also truthfully. "But it's gonna have to wait. I want to talk with this man first."

The racketeer nodded, but also remarked indifferently, "This is a funny route to take, though, to come to me." His voice was causal, not hinting anything, but Selina smiled at him.

"I realized someone was following me on the main road, and wanted to be sure," she explained. "I could have taken him down earlier but I wanted it to be somewhere close to you for discretion. _And_ I would have taken him down earlier but I wanted to be sure if he was just a stalker or something more," she added before he could question her further. Derrick Malkin wasn't a fool, he would certainly realize that she hadn't reacted until they had come.

He nodded, but whether he was satisfied with her explanation couldn't be read from his features, and again, it troubled Selina. People had been always easy to decipher for her, like books written in foreign languages waiting for someone to find their Rosetta Stone, and she had always been that Rosetta, had always known where to look to unravel, but it seemed when it came to Derrick Malkin, she was losing that ability.

They walked into his residence in silence, and the racketeer led her directly to his office. Inside the room, she settled on the couch. He left the room and came back a few seconds later with a first aid box in his hand.

He sat on the coffee table in front of the couch, and pulled out a pad of gauze and wetted it with peroxide. He gently touched her skin with the pad. She gulped, closing her eyes, but didn't pull away. "It isn't too deep," Derrick said, as he pressed the gauze harder.

This time she hissed, her eyes opening, and her nails clutched the cloth of the couch. "You shouldn't have taken him to the back streets, Ms. Kyle," Derrick continued, pulling the gauze. "It was a very dangerous move." He took another one.

"I needed—" she hissed again, "to be—sure. If they've started to come after us, they will start to go after Holly, too." Her expression hardened, and the burn on her skin was forgotten. "I can't let that happen."

He threw the pad down, and took a big Band-Aid from the box. He placed it on the wound then he nodded. "We won't let that happen, Ms. Kyle," he said, "Holly isn't alone."

No, she wasn't, there was also Georgina, the woman he had given up, just as she had Holly. And right at that moment, Selina understood, whether Bruce liked it or not, this was her worth, doing whatever was necessary to keep Holly safe.

She stood up. "I need to talk with that man, Mr. Malkin," her voice roughened with loathing, "_privately_. Can you arrange it?"

* * *

Fox walked into the office just as before their kiss went to the next level. He stopped in the doorway, and cleared his throat. "Err—Mr. Wayne, Mrs. West."

Smiling against his lips, Valerie pulled back. "Of all people _he's _the one that knows what to call me," she muttered. "Mr. Fox," she chirped, turning to the older man, and smiled at him. "You have _fantastic_ timing."

Fox gave them a look. "I thought it was urgent," he said unaffected, "but if you're busy—"

"No, Lucius," Bruce cut him off as Valerie's eyes shot daggers at him, "We're _not_ busy."

"Good," Fox nodded. "Then, let's go see it."

Valerie arched an eyebrow, and looked at Bruce questionably. "Your suit," he explained shortly. "We have the prototype."

Valerie whistled. "Already?"

Bruce grinned at her, moving the book-lever in the library to open the panel door where a private elevator was hidden.

Wrinkling her nose, she walked into the elevator. "I hope you didn't go for something cheap."

"Valerie," he followed her in. "I don't do anything cheap."

"Snob," Valerie shot back, and leaned to place a kiss on his lips as Fox joined them. He pushed her back, his eyes shooting a warning as the older man turned and pressed the only button in the lift. Ignoring his warning, she neared in him again, smiling daringly, her head tilted up at him. Backing against the elevator's wall, Bruce caught her waist, and turning her around he propped her against his chest. "Behave," he silently growled against her shoulder. She giggled, and Fox ignored them, muttering something close to 'newlyweds.'

Unfortunately the trip down to their _special place_ was a rather short one, so a few seconds later the elevator stopped, as Valerie decided they also should _categorize_ there, gazing at the floor-length mirror.

Her eyes heated, and Bruce caught her look on her reflection in the mirror. "What?" he asked, titling his head down to her ear as the doors opened.

Resting her neck on his shoulder, she lifted her head up at him, and gave him a dirty smile. "Nothing," she drawled. "I just noticed we've _missed_ another spot in our catalogue."

Fox slanted at them a glance. Bruce's eyes caught hers at the mirror, and the old man shook his head as they looked at each other. "I don't even want to know what this is about," Fox said, walking out.

Breaking Bruce's grip, she followed him. "Pity," she shot back, bypassing Fox, "Leslie would certainly like it if you did."

Fox halted on his steps, exchanging a look with Bruce. With the corner of her eyes she saw her husband shrug...Her husband...Hmm, she liked the sound of it more and more, the way the possessive word turned around her tongue, and the way Bruce looked at her whenever the word was uttered. Her insides flared again, but decisively she put the fire off. Now it was time for business, the other things would follow later...hmm, perhaps with her suit...and Bruce with his own? Perhaps in their _lovely_ cave? In the Tumbler? _On_ the Tumbler? As he really showed her his—engines. The blood in her veins heated up again with the imaginary, the nub between her legs throbbing, but again she managed to shake herself out of it. _Focus._ She needed to focus. The Suit. Her suit.

_Right._

She looked around, her eyes wandering the spacious room then she turned back to them. "Okay," she smiled, "Where is it? Where is my Suit?"

Expectedly Fox took the lead. This way," he said motioning them to follow. He led them through corridors and a few closets, and stopped in front of a glass cabinet in which the suit she had seen stood inside. Fox lowered the glass.

She should have known better, she definitely should have known better. Her husband never did things by half. Her hands moved up, and she touched it with her fingertips. The fabric was light probably the same material that Bruce wore underneath his armor but it was silkier. The matte black was the same though, absorbing every light and emitting none; sleek, lithe, and pliable; she deemed it perfect to slip through the darkness undetected. And the breastplate...She brushed her fingers over the long armor-corset and knocked her knuckles on it. "It's a lighter version of Mr. Wayne's armor," Fox explained, "much, much lighter so that you don't need to carry all that much weight."

She nodded. "But the protection—?"

"Much, much, much less, of course," Fox admitted. "But Mr. Wayne was—" he slanted a look at Bruce. " —adamant that it'd be enough."

Bruce nodded. "She won't be in an open assault."

"We'll talk about it later, our negotiations have not finished yet," she reminded him. "Told you it was gonna be a long bargain."

Bruce opened his mouth, as the lines around his mouth tightened, but before they drifted into another domestic battle, Fox intervened. "Do you want to try it on, Mrs. Valerie?"

Her head snapped to him. "Can I?"

The man gestured. "Well, we built it for you."

Smiling, she nodded. She went to one of the cabinets at the end of the corridor, the suit in one hand, as the other held the mask Bruce had also built for her. She stole a glance first at the customized domino mask, then back at Bruce. Her husband really never did things by half. Smiling, she walked into the cabinet.

She had been right. The skintight suit was a lot lighter than his and thank god a lot easier to get into, too. She hoped it also would be much more airy so she wouldn't be soaked in it as the way Bruce did. To see its agility, she pulled her arm up and fisted her hand, then raised her leg and tried a kick. The fabric moved around her skin silkily without any interference, especially in the joints. Good, very, very good. Smiling, she pulled her hair up in a tight ponytail, attached the clips of the mask around her head, and slipped on the last item, the black thigh high boots, and walked out.

"I'm gonna ask you how I look, hubby," she approached to the men, Bruce looking at her figure intensely as Fox still held a neutral stance, "But I warn you, if you say—_nice_—I won't be responsible for my actions."

Despite the look in his eyes heated more Bruce said with a noncommittal voice, "You look—"He paused, seizing her up as if trying to decide, "—like you're missing something." He grabbed her wrist, and pulled her closer. "Come here."

He took a customized belt from another glass panel. He wrapped it around her waist, and harnessed another loop around her leg. He took the slim small tranquilizer, and tucked it inside a holster on her leg. "Now," he announced, satisfied, "You look very—functional."

She titled her head, and smiled. "Thanks."

Fox nodded. "If you've finished trying it on," he said, and pointed to the folder he had brought with him. "Pearson Chemicals. We're ready. I fixed a meeting with Ms. Tate to go over the latest details. If you're going to do it, we can sign it tomorrow."

Bruce nodded, as Valerie frowned behind the mask. Those strange men... She needed to start work on them again. Despite what happened with the Council, the fear toxin was still a problem, and if she judged by the way Bruce's mouth flattened, he didn't like it, not in the slightest. "Yes, invite them, please," he said. "We need to know what happens there. Someone made sure I left Dale's house." He paused as his lines deepened with his grimace. "Someone reported me to the police. Someone knew I was there."

Valerie frowned further, and nodded. "I'll start to look for those men, too," she said, feeling like they _really_ had returned to normal; the joys of Gotham, and Batman.

His expression loosened a little bit, as he turned to her, and nodded. "Yes." He paused a second, then the grimace left its lips, leaving its place to a faint smirk. "Let's move on to the next thing."

Her eyebrow arched behind her mask. "The next thing?"

"Another side project of mine," he answered.

She gave him a pointed look. "Just how many side projects you have, husband, without my knowledge?"

He shrugged, and pointed out, "It's not my fault that you stopped coming to work." She glared at him. "I didn't tell you about it, because I wasn't sure if it would work," he explained.

"Hmm..." Valerie said.

Fox ran one of the computers at the station, and a white light erupted as a blank page appeared on the screen. "What is this?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"_Tabula Rasa_," Fox answered.

She raised her eyebrows. "Tabula Rasa?"

"When you called that dealer in London," Bruce started, "I thought if we could somehow erase all traces of you from the records, and give you a—blank page," he pointed at the screen, "then I wouldn't have to lose any sleep any more about who could make connections between Cameron Reese, Felicia Bale, and you."

"Hmm—so is it working?" she asked, leaning forward to look closer. "My past kicked the bucket?"

With the corner of her eye she caught Bruce rolling his eyes, even though they were fixed on her bottom. Nice. "No, not yet," he admitted then paused for a second, as she leaned even further on the desk. She smiled. "Cameron Reese was easy to deal, but Felicia, alas, is having too much reputation to fade away—easily."

She returned back and rested her hips on the edge. "Meaning?"

"The name confusion," Fox interjected, "There are too many Felica Bale in the databases, and we need to find a way to assort them so we don't erase the wrong _Felicias_."

"Oh," she said then asked, "Can't you use social security number or something like that?"

Bruce shook his head. "Yours isn't a real one. It might work for other databases, but Interpol could catch our trail if we did," he explained.

"Or FBI," Fox added.

She smiled with a little shrug. "My reputation always precedes me, eh?" Bruce gave her a look. She smiled further. "Well, darling, keep trying. I'm sure you'll solve it."

Bruce smiled back falsely then declared, "We ran it for Holly."

She took a step away from the desk. "You did?"

"Yeah, her and the other girls we sent to Cassandra," he replied. "They officially don't exist anymore."

She walked closer to him. "Does Selina know this?"

His face soured. "No, not yet."

"You need to tell her," Valerie said, "You can't do something like this without telling her."

He nodded. "I will." She neared at him closer. "Bruce—" she started, softening her tone, and a frown appeared on his brown immediately as if he _knew_ what she was going to say next. "I saw Selina the day I met with Jill. She came to talk to me."

His expression closing entirely, he pulled back. "No," he almost rasped.

"Bruce," she tried again, "She wants to help."

"I can't believe you of all people are making a case for her."

Huffing, Valerie rolled her eye. "You or me?" She heaved a sigh. "Bruce, I know it's hard to believe, but she really cares."

"I _know_," Bruce stressed, "I saw her. But our—reasons are different." He paused for a second. "Besides, I'm not much of a team player."

"Well, we all try to learn to be something else," she said, "perhaps it's time for you to start on it, too."

His eyes tilted, and his expression soured. Fox, gathering that he had dropped into the middle of a domestic dispute, excused himself and walked away hurriedly as Bruce grabbed her, and pulled her closer roughly.

"Do you think I'm _not_?" He twirled her around and made her face herself on the glass panel. "_Look at yourself_," he grounded, his voice now practically a rasp. "You're in a suit, a suit that I've _personally_ designed for you. I'm letting you _come with me._ I'm negotiating." Letting his grip, he shook his head. "Do you really think I'm not learning to be something else, Valerie?"

"Bruce—" she said, turning back to him. "I—"

He cut her off, "What she's asking of me isn't to be something else. She's asking me to be something entirely different, something that goes fundamentally against every core of every belief I have. Valerie, even if I could trust Selina—and that's a big if, I could never trust _them_."

Valerie nodded, understanding that even though Selina might prove her worth to Bruce she was going to need to do something much more challenging than that. She was going to need to prove the worth of a racketeer and a former hustler to Batman.

* * *

_A quick note; I assure you that Valerie _won't_ be Batwoman. She has her own suit, yes, but that's it. There are already too much 'masked' people around, no need to turn this into a real freak carnival. _

_Tabula Rasa, blank slate in Latin. It's of course a revision of TKDR's Clean Slate, but Clean Slate isn't enough-flashy for me, so it's Tabula Rasa. :) I was looking for something like this for a couple of plot related reasons, but didn't know what to do, so when I saw TKDR I was like, 'oh, thank you, Nolan. axxo'._

_See ya the next time._


	3. Season of Mists

_**Chapter Three **_

_**Season of Mists**_

* * *

His new life was full of unexpected events, Alex decided upon entering the bunker. Selina's call had come when he least expected it, while he stared through the long window of another hotel room he had rented, his mind focused on the last unexpected news. It was a funny world really, a funny, funny world.

They were standing in the middle of the dimly lit bunker, and in front of them an unconscious man sat on a metal chair, his hands and legs bound. Alex tossed a quick glance at the men standing guard at the door as he walked to Selina.

"What is this?" he asked, his eyes landing on the bound man.

"Nothing," Selina replied but he noticed the plaster on her neck.

"What happened?" His voice came out more on edge than he had intended, but that was one of those unexpected things he hadn't seen happening. Worrying.

"Someone attacked me," Selina answered shortly.

"Someone attacked you?" He stepped closer, his eyes inspecting her neck. "When?"

"Today," she answered crossly, and it was clear from her posture that she hated to explain herself, but still she continued, "When I was going to Mr. Malkin. He followed me, then attacked me."

He drew closer, and whispered heatedly, "You went to see _Malkin_?"

The question didn't come out as he had intended, too, and a terse look was his only response. Stupid woman. He obscured the racketeer's view with his body. "Selina, why do you never listen to _logic_?" he asked almost exasperated, and his hand pointed to her neck, just to prove his point. "This is exactly the reason you shouldn't go out on your own now."

"It's just a scratch," she hissed. "Stop fussing. I needed to talk with Malkin."

"You could've asked me to come," he countered.

"I needed to talk with him alone."

His eyebrow rose, and his lips soured. "I—_see_," he said slowly, though he wasn't sure what he was seeing.

"You don't see _anything_," she snapped back. "Stop being stupid."

He didn't reply. Selina glared at him only a second longer then started to walk away hitting him on the shoulder as she passed. Stupid. Damn. Woman.

She took a blade from the counter. His eyebrows raised again. "He tried to use it on me," she explained, a disturbing glint in her eyes. He tried to make a move but before he could reach for it she turned and walked to the unconscious man. She nodded at Malkin. "Let's wake him up."

Alex followed her, and stood behind them, as the racketeer threw a bucket of cold water at the man. The racketeer stepped aside, and the man woke up whimpering to Selina's unflinching figure.

She tossed him a warning glance over her shoulder and Alex saw again the same look in her eyes before she approached the man. For a second, Alex really wanted to reach her, wanted to stop her, before she started walking that path, before she did something she wasn't ready for. He knew what kind of a woman Selina Kyle was and despite of her many other—shortcomings, she wasn't that. Yet, his feet remained planted, he wasn't sure why, but he wanted to see it, and he realized, he wanted her to see it, too.

Selina's eyes skipped to the man's crotch, and Alex didn't miss the blood stain on the cloth. She tilted her head, and her hand tapped the blade against her hip. "Does it hurt, Mr—?" she paused, and Alex saw a scowl appeared on her features. "What's your name?"

The man stayed silent, only glaring at her. "Who sent you?" she asked.

Again silence. Her hand still tapping the blade at her hip, she neared him. "You want to play hard ball, don't you?" She sighed heavily. "Very well then." She raised her arm, threw the blade just above his groin, and kicked him over.

Alex momentarily closed his eyes, as Malkin looked at her, close to gaping, though his face remained passive. Slowly, Selina advanced to where he had landed, and pressed her foot into the knife.

The man howled an inhuman wail. "You have thirty minutes before you bleed out," she informed him, raising her voice to be heard over his screams, "so I'm going to ask only once, and your answer had better satisfy me, because I _hate_ repeating myself." She pressed her foot down harder, the man screamed. She screamed back, "Who sent you after me?"

"I don't know," he cried.

"I want a name!"

"I don't know!" he cried again.

"Do I look satisfied from there?" she shouted, and knelt down. Relentlessly, she took the blade out as she flew on her new path, and Alex almost felt—sad. The blood squirted from the open wound, as she warned, "Your life expectancy just dropped to fifteen minutes." She stood up, and pressed her foot again on him for pressure.

"I can't tell—" he whimpered, hitting his head on the floor. "I can't—they'd kill me!"

Smirking darkly, she pressed harder. "And what makes you think I'll let you live?"

* * *

Her hands shaking, Selina tried frantically to clean the blood off her skin, trying futilely to keep her mind as fixed on the task as her eyes. She knew how things were going to be; she knew there were going to be prices to pay, she knew it, and she'd thought she was ready…

Her eyes lifted, and she looked at her reflection, then behind her she saw Alex looking back. _Great._ "I didn't take you as a shoot first ask later type," he said, causally leaning on the door, his eyes still on the mirror.

"Get out," she spat, as her eyes dropped, "Get the fuck out!"

He didn't. She shot him a look like daggers over her shoulder. "Just for once, just once, when I ask you to leave me alone, just leave me ALONE!"

He still didn't, of course. Instead he stopped next to her. "Hey," he said, pulling her hands away from the water. "Hey, it's okay." He turned her around to face him. "Selina, it's okay."

She looked at her hands, still ghostly red, folded in his palms. "It doesn't go away," she whispered.

"It will," he assured, his voice almost soothing, "in time, it will."

She bowed her head. "I'm trying—whatever I can—no one could do it better—" A sob escaped. "God," she whispered again, shaking her head astonished, and tried to pull her hands back.

He didn't let her_, of course._ "Selina—" he said softly.

"I just tortured someone," the words poured, broken, and meanings even more so. She had just tortured someone to prove her own worth, for Holly... She had just tortured someone, trying to make the world a better place. Was this how someone became bad?

"Selina," he started, she lifted her head, "You—"

_Because I'm bad person?_

_Yes._

She didn't let him finish. She clutched his shirt, pulled him down to her, and she kissed him.

* * *

Fervent, and moist, and humid; two days in the country, Hollis already hated it, but then again he had never liked Egypt. The days were hot like hell, and the nights were glacial, like a _frozen _hell, forgotten in the past. But this backwater of a city wasn't the reason for his current predicament, because if there was something Hollis hated the most, it was the uncertainty, it was not-knowing.

The heir of the Elliot Empire shot another harsh look at the man in front of them, his face grim. If there was anyone who might hate Egypt more than him in the moment, Hollis decided it must be Elliot. Always on edge, easy to snap, almost paranoid, the man wasn't the best traveling company. Whatever this Felicia woman and Selina were doing to him, it was damn well working. If the younger man didn't find an answer to his many questions soon, Thomas Elliot might die of anger. Frankly, Hollis had already started to reconsider his decision in Ireland.

He only wanted to find that woman, and an answer to why she had started to search for him, and for that he felt the same as Thomas. The questions were so many, but the answers were so little, and he somewhat suspected Selina might provide them for him. Perhaps he just should have asked her.

And that made things even more—tangled, he thought sneaking a glance at the animated man who sat on the bar stool. "Liam—?" the native man asked back, his accent heavy and broken, as his hand went to the bill Thomas had just slapped on the bar. "No," he shook his head, pocketing the money. "Haven't seen him for a while. Why? Why are you looking for him?"

Good question.

The tracks, the tips Thomas's private detective had found, the bread crumbs they had followed had brought them there, to this hole in Cairo, but at the end they hadn't found the witch's sugar house, nor the witch herself for that matter. "What can you tell us about Felicia Bale?" Hollis asked then.

The woman was—interesting, as Sean had said, a woman of many faces. The rumors had it; talk was all around, and Hollis wasn't sure any more which were just tales and which were truths, but there was one fact that couldn't be denied; the woman had some reputation.

"Felicia—" the native Egyptian repeated, shaking his head, "haven't heard that name before."

Thomas slapped another one-hundred dollar bill on the bar. "Think again."

The man's face brightened, as he gave them a smarmy smile. "Ah, _Felicia_—" he remarked, as if recognition just lit in his head, then paused a little. "What do you want to know about her?"

"Did you see her here last year?" Thomas asked, carefully forming his question.

"No—" he replied, "she's never done business with me," and confirmed that she had been really there.

"She used to work for Liam?" Thomas asked.

The man laughed. "I don't think she's the kind of woman who would work for anyone." He paused a little, and a suggestive leer appeared on his lips, dirty and meaningful. "I heard she's the opposite. Get men to work for her."

And _that_ sounded more like the woman they'd been looking for. "Do you know why she was here?" Hollis asked.

Their informant gave them a smile, his finger drumming on the wooden surface of the bar. "No—" Thomas smacked another bill down, and the man's smile grew bigger. "She was here to see Liam."

His hands clenching, Hollis wanted to hit him, he really, really did, but before he could even act, Thomas was already on him.

Thomas pushed the skinny man's back against the bar, and hissed hoarsely, "Listen to me, you pig—" Hollis' eyes traveled around the tavern, but it appeared no one cared enough about this little dark man. "Just this week, I've been all around the world chasing ghosts. Now, you either tell me what she was looking for," he shouted, "or else—" He let the rest of the threat remain unspoken.

"She was looking for someone," the dark skinned man whimpered.

"_WHO?_" Thomas bellowed.

The man let out a squeak, as Thomas's hands tightened around his windpipe, and said, "Christian Rifts."

Thomas took a step back, shaking himself off of the man's pitiful figure, and threw a full package of bills at his face before he turned to leave.

"We thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Aimed," Hollis said before following him.

* * *

Alex found her in her office in Chill the next day. Before he said anything, she asked, "Found anything?"

For a moment he gave her a look, but the next he sat on the couch, and nodded. "Yeah, his contact is one of the Charming Devil's men. Navel Lanner."

She scowled, throwing the paper in her hand down. "I don't care for the minions, Alex," she gritted. "Where can we find this—_devil_?"

"If Dahlia is in hiding," he said, shrugging, "certainly he is, too."

"His man?" she questioned further.

"I don't know," he admitted, as his face soured, "He could be anywhere."

She exhaled a deep breath. "The rumors say Navel is a gambler, a very serious one," he offered. "There is a gaming expo in Costa Rica this weekend." She looked at him questioningly. "He always attends."

"You're certain?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"That's good."

He shrugged. "It's a lead."

Selina shook her head. It was more than a lead. They had been chasing ghosts, only stupid names, but if they got their hands on a real man, things would be different, very, very different. After she was done with him, perhaps she would even offer him to _Batman_.

"Selina—" Alex started.

She abruptly stood up, and cut him off. "No—don't say anything."

He didn't listen of course, only looked at her pointedly. "Selina, we need to talk about it."

"No, we don't."

"You kissed me." She stayed silent, only shooting him a look. "Then you practically fled."

"I didn't run."

"Oh, yes, yes, you did," he objected, and stood up too. "And you're still running." He walked to her.

"I'm not running," she spat.

"Then why don't you want to talk about it?"

"Because there is nothing to talk about," she countered, leaning over her desk.

He didn't back down. "There is definitely something to talk about. Us."

She barked out a laugh. "There is no such thing as _us_."

"Then why did you kiss me?"

She didn't answer, but she didn't stop looking at him, either. Her every instinct screamed at her to turn away, move her eyes away, and turn her back, and run away, but her feet didn't move. She wasn't running away, she was _not._

"When I kissed you," Alex said softly, when he arrived in front of the desk. "You didn't pull away."

"I didn't kiss you back," she reminded him tersely. "And I _did_ pull back later."

"But you _let_ me kiss you first," he shot back, not affected by the last remark. "There is something between us," he said again when she didn't speak. "You threw yourself in front of a bullet for me."

The memory flashed in her mind. She had seen the gun trained on him, and she didn't think, she only acted... "Warrior's reflex," she defended her action.

He smiled back faintly. "A _cat's_ reflex is to survive, Selina," he said, "Not throwing itself in the path of danger. Whether you liked it or not, there is something between us."

"Nothing," she shook her head. "There is nothing."

"Because you're a good person?" he asked.

She bowed her head, as her eyes caught her hands, the blood had faded. He had been right, the blood had faded... Her hands trembled, and she fisted them to stop the tremors. Then he moved closer over the desk, and whispered, "I'm trying to do whatever I can, too, Selina. No one could do better."

Her hands fisted more, as a teardrop slipped out of her eye. She shook her head. "No," she muttered. Lifting her head, she muttered again, "No, no, _I_ can do better."

She took the folder on the desk, and left the room.

* * *

Gazing out at Gotham from her new office in Wayne Tower, one acquired as the new head of the Law Department after the former manager had—ah, disappeared, Talia waited for the newlyweds to arrive. The meeting with Pearson Chemicals to talk about their new campaign was soon approaching and as always, they were running late. This time, though, Talia was sure they had good reason for their tardiness. There was one thing that she had to admit about these outlanders; they always managed to surprise her with their recklessness.

An impromptu wedding in one of the vilest cities in the world... It suited them, she thought scoffing, bonding with your mate with no honor as if it was adventure, a sudden urge, not a matter of life that had to be taken with wows that should never been broken as long as one breathed, and beyond. Not that it would matter. In fact, it was even better if he had decided that his _kutiya_ was his soul mate. One more thing for him to lose before he would die; one more failure, one more shame.

Bruce Wayne was going to lose _everything_. And after she had taken everything he was going to _beg_ her to take his life away, too, to stop his pain and shame. If the imposter hadn't begged, because of him, then his former _heir_ was going to do it in his stead.

She unclenched her curled hands. She even didn't realize that she had pulled them into fists. Patience. She had to be patient. There was a time for everything, and this was a long game they played. And it seemed that new players had joined them on the board. Her mind traveled to what happened on their wedding night, and turning back she walked to her desk. She sat on her chair, her eyes catching a glance of the campaign's promotional sketches that lay on her desk.

Change the Future.

She pursed her lips. Like the outlanders would know anything about change. Though, she was more than pleased to have the chance to play with their delusions as it might keep them from what really mattered. A shard of worry crossed her expression, and she looked at the manila folder next the sketches. Pearson Chemicals.

Fool or not, his prey had managed to track her trail to the company. He was not going to find anything, the identity of the Master Chemist was hidden securely, she had made sure of that, but, when things were these delicate, one always had to be most careful. They must have already discovered the existence of Mr. Walden and Mr. Crews, the episode on Madison Avenue must have made it clear even though they wouldn't understand. And now, he was about to buy Pearson.

Could she use his latest—expeditions to her advantage? Doubtlessly he had gotten tangled in the webs of the Council. His path had finally collided with them, and she knew he would only follow that path now. His nature, his biased desire for justice would never let him do otherwise. That much she knew about him. Whatever she thought of Bruce Wayne, his prey had been one of them once. He knew about Justice, he just didn't understand it.

Justice wasn't merciful, nor it was lenient; it was swift, it was direct. It was about balance, harmony, the circle never-ending. Furious as she was for lots of things about the imposter, _lots,_ lots of things, she would never deny that he understood Justice. He had known, he had understood _then_ he had made the Pact. He had dared to bring _them_ under her mighty ancestor's roof, he had made them sit on their feast table, had made them drink from their goblets. And he had offered them the hospitality of their house where her liege lord and father once sat and passed Judgment.

The anger, the fury she had felt the first time she had heard news of the Pact returned, hitting her like the gravity of the mountains. The nerve of him, the nerve of shaking every foundation that she had ever believed in... Even if she would have forgiven him for everything else, she would never forgive him for that, nor would she ever forget.

_A grunt on the tip of her tongue, she repressed it, the harsh air of Himalayas hitting her skin as she climbed, up toward her home. Despite the frost, she had missed the sensation on her flesh, the cold that almost threatened to steal her breath away... Away. Had she really become so much away from what she was? What she had been..? Cold had been always a part of her life, always, and a warrior of League would never felt threaten by it. _

_Then why were her hands were trembling, why was her head turning, why was her breath itching like an outlander? Had she really become one of them?_

_No. No!_

_The single sharp command stopped the trembling, turning, itching, and she held her head high against the wind, and let the coldness beat her skin. She was still one of the League, she would never turn into one of them, never. And if he thought he could bring shame on her honored ancestor's house, and none would say anything, he was going to get another thing. _

_She hadn't done anything as _the imposter _stole everything she had held dear; her honor, her father, her father's name, but she would face eternal damnation for her every breath if he let her steal her ancestor's legacy, too._

_The League would never make peace with them, never._

_As her mind steeled, her legs stiffened, and she climbed higher, slowly but steadily, like a snow leopard on the east side of mountain. He would see, he would see; he would shame them no more._

_Through the secret passage in the east side, she skipped under through the hole in the caverns, and crept on her belly toward to where her home was waiting for her. The snow mixed with mud under her on the rocky surface, slipping through the many folds of her clothes, the cold still biting her skin, her face and hair covered with dirt, her broken nails dragging over sharp pebbles, cutting under fingernails._

_Then she was at home, after years, and years, she was at home, hidden under darkness, engulfed with shadows, but she was at home. Home... how she had missed it... Slithering through darkness, she leaped one shadow to another, through the places she had run through as a child, now she glided like the cunning viper until she arrived to the room where her honored father had once ruled the world._

_Where the imposter defiled with his filth and lies now. Her lips curled into a wordless snarl, and when she crossed into the room, the memories rushed into her like a flood that ran down over the eastern slopes in the spring._

_Hot tears of anger slipped out of her eyes over her frostbit skin, and almost froze. Outside the night flashed purple with no moon shining in its velvet depths, the stars hidden under the mist; and she understood then that it was the season of mists. _

_The merry voices of the feast reached her ears as if it was the first time she heard it since she had slipped into her home back like an enemy, and each joyous sound scorched her memories, and defiled the honored tome of her family... all because of that imposter!_

_Her hand sliding inside her belt, her fingers fisted on her dagger. She forced herself to stay motionless behind the long velvet tapestry over the east well, stood in stillness, like mountains. Time, there was a time for everything, and her time was approaching, her dagger soon would be soaked with his blood. Soon._

_Then he came. She heard his soft footsteps before she saw him. She could recognize that sound even after years, passing months listening to it before she went to sleep as he paced before her room, standing at guard, soft methodic footsteps letting her know that he was there, waiting._

_Her breath itched, and behind the tapestry she stole a glance at him, and for a moment, her heart stopped beating, her grip on her dagger lessened._

_Grey had touched his temples, like the first snow fell on the eastern slopes, lazily but gracefully, and she suddenly realized how much time had really passed since the last time her eyes had fallen on him. The last moment then flashed over her eyes; she turning back, her father turning his head away, and him looking at her, with sadness, with pity... Her hand stiffened over the hilt of her dagger._

_She threw the tapestry away and revealed herself, her eyes flashing with hatred, pain, and everything else. He whirled around, his hand already at his side then his eyes widened catching her figure in front of the windows. _

"_Talia—" he whispered, and took a step forward, "Talia—the guards—" his head swept around to cast a glance to his door, "How—"_

"_My home—" she snarled, "outlander, it's _my_ home. And I know its secrets."_

_His eyes narrowed. "You can't be here—" he warned, and she barked out a laugh. "You're under death penalty," he said._

"_Because of you, imposter—" she spat._

"_Talia—if you're caught, there is nothing I can do."_

_She shook her head. Why couldn't he understand it didn't matter, death didn't matter while she lived in such shame, every day, every breath. "You stole everything from me!" she cried, "My father, my title, my honor." She took a step forward, her dagger tight in her grip. "Now, you're stealing the honor of my ancestors."_

"_Talia—" he repeated her name, and she hated how the sound had come out of his lips, and she hated how much she had missed it, missed someone uttering her name. She wasn't Talia anymore, in the outlander's lands, she was many things, but she wasn't Talia. She could be never Talia any more._

"_How could you bring them here—" she seethed, "How did you dare?"_

_He walked closer to her, closer to danger. "I needed to," he said in resignation, as if the admittance pained him, _shamed_ him._

_She drew closer. "You—"_

"_Listen to me," he took a step closer too, "We can't fight on two sides—"_

"_Didn't you learn anything at all, outlander?" she spat, loving the way the word turned into an insult, "We've been fighting with them all of my life. You can't make peace with the enemy."_

"_Not peace," he said sturdily, "Truce. We've made a truce. Until you father's bidding has been fulfilled—" He held her eyes. "Then we'll strike back like we have always done."_

_She shook her head, seeing red, blood boiling in her veins. "You know nothing, outlander!" She shouted and launched forward. "You think you're one of us—" He caught her at the waist, as his hand clasped over her mouth._

"_Hush—" he whispered, "Talia—be silent—"_

_She bit his skin, and raised her hand with the dagger. His other hand clasped her wrist. "Talia, please," he implored, his voice soft unlike his hand which gripped hers tightly. "If you're caught, even I can't save you."_

_She stilled, stood motionless, and he pulled his hands back, both. "I'd prefer death before I accept your help," she said serenely, as the red quenched, outside, the purple brightened more in the mists. _

"_You stole everything from me," she repeated, and raised her hand, and pointed her dagger at his neck._

_He let her, didn't even try to fight back. "Fight," she hissed._

_He didn't. "I never meant to hurt you," he whispered instead, "Truce—" he went on, "It will only stand until Gotham falls. We prepare another attack. Soon, we will strike again—"_

_She pressed her dagger further, and hissed again. "Fight."_

"—_like you demanded. The sounds of our swords will clash in the air as the judgment falls onto them, Ngey Khremsehsi."_

_Her voice rose again, as tears welled inside her eyes..."Fight. Back."_

"_Come back," he said, only his hand moving towards her empty one, "Talia, take my hand, and stay." His fingers touched hers briefly. "Bound to me. If we take the vow, no one could touch my chosen beloved."_

_Tears slipped down, as her hand shook. "Fight."_

"_You know I won't," he whispered, and her eyes held hers, "I know you won't either." _

"_You know nothing, outlander!"_

_Suddenly he caught her waist, and pulled her closer, her dagger cutting his flesh. "I know the feel of your lips on mine, and I know how they burned me because I dared to steal a kiss. And I know I still don't regret it," he leaned forward. "And I know I won't regret this either." _

_His lips crashed on her poisonous lips. Her tears ran freely over her skin, and fell through the cracks over their lips, and she hated herself for not pulling back, much like the first time she had hated herself. _

_Her arms curled around his neck, the dagger slipping out of her fingers. The heat of her lips must be devouring him but he didn't pull back, instead he only pulled her closer, willingly leaving himself to burn in her blaze._

_And it was madness, nothing but madness. The snapshots flashed through her mind as her lips opened and his tongue found hers, the heat reaching their taste buds, scorching both of them further, and she thought herself to be ready to face it, after years and years wearing the poisonous weeds, she thought herself to be ready, then why now she was having only her own tears to quench her flames?_

_Snapshots returned... Her head turned back, as her fathers' turned away, and he looked at her with such pity, with such sadness... His voice imploring as she raised her sword and raised it against her father... Her tears fastened as the heat in her quenched, her insides freezing, she had made her own grave herself. She moved her hand down, toward his waist where his dagger was, and she held the hilt with numb fingers. She then took it, and stabbed him._

_She pulled back as he dropped to the floor, his hands clutching his side, but his eyes were still fixed on her. _

_She stood still, as the dagger dropped, and heard the heavy footsteps._

"_Go," he whispered._

_She didn't move. "We have come to the end, Henri Ducard."_

_He stood up, taking her dagger from the floor next to his. He caught her again. She fought against his grip, and this time he fought back. He drew her back, to the windows that faced the cliffs on the eastern slopes._

_She flipped them over, and raised her leg. He caught it, and turned her around, then pulled her back, and backed her to the windows... the footsteps approaching... At the window, he trapped her with his arms, the guards, adorned with the colors of Ra Al Ghul, crashed into the room of the Leader of League of Shadows. She laughed. _

_He looked in her eyes. "Your dagger is still dry," he whispered hoarsely, tucking it inside her belt, "and I'm still alive," he opened the windows, and the winds blew over them, carrying the scent of the mountains, "And to fulfill your oath, you have to stay the same." _

_Then he pushed her out of the windows._

* * *

_Yup, there was no Bruce and Valerie this time, I noticed it a little bit too late. Well, oops._

_And, I really have no idea how things between Selina and Alex has come to this point. Frankly, I never meant Selina developing feelings for Alex, but well, she did, quite behind my back. She's developed a Jack Bauer Syndrome, I think. Heh. __I hope the flashbacks with Talia aren't too confusing. I'm practicing nonlinear narrative with her so I don't give away her back story in a linear way in the flashbacks._

_With the next part the 'action' will start, and hopefully, won't slow down either for the rest of the story :)_


	4. The Message - Part I

**_Chapter Four_**

**_The Message – Part I_**

* * *

Jeremy sat in his bunker, in what had become a familiar pose, hunched in front of the black and green screens, his brows furrowed in annoyance; an expression that looked _unfamiliar_ on the ever-bright hacker's face.

Sean could understand the annoyance. The same feeling had been pumping into him too. Jeremy was a good hacker, the best money could buy, as he always proclaimed. Catching her trail should have been a picnic for him after they'd discovered the point of origin, but still here they were; wasting time stargazing at the green lines and dots as they appeared and disappeared. After watching them for days, Sean almost understood the reason Jeremy had sought him when he had discovered the bug in his bunker. It was unsettling, and Sean knew time was running out.

Their former guests must already have figured out that Fi had gone to see Liam, and probably that he'd sent her to the pseudo-professor himself. He didn't want to be here when they returned to Cork and asked him why he hadn't told them _that_. Who would want such a thing? Besides, he didn't trust that son of a bitch so-called professor as far as he could throw him.

That miserable heap of greed had no honor code, and would easily backstab anyone without any remorse or guilt. Of course, the same thing could have been said about him, _too_, he knew. In fact, Fi herself had called him—on more than one occasion—a miserable heap of greed, and he certainly had called her— on more than one occasion—a backstabbing bitch, but Sean would have never mixed her father into their dealings. They knew where to draw the lines, had never crossed over the family borders, even if hers had been a pitiful example of that sentiment. There were unspoken—regulations among them, things that Liam had never understood fully, probably because he had never had a family.

Sean had heard that Liam had already left his lair in the museum, and was off grid again, god only knew for what reasons, so it might take some time to find the bald dealer, but he never trusted the possibilities that sounded too good to be true. Felicia was a woman of high reputation anyway, even in Egypt there must be interesting stories about her, and with their luck it wouldn't take long for the pair to hear what she was looking for.

He grimaced, looking at the screen. And why would he care? If they came back to him, he would always spin a tale, and send them away. This wasn't his business, and was there really so much honor between them? His hand touched the scar his upper lips. Felicia was bad news, always; just a few days loose on the streets and she had taken the streets like a hurricane, and had him questioned roughly, got Ron caught by the police, got her father killed in her shenanigans, and then went off grid.

Then Sean realized as the green flickered over the black on the screens. It was a maze, where the beginnings and endings got all tangled, and the only way to find the way was to find the source of origin.

Good ol' Fi.

* * *

Derrick lifted his head from the reports as Charlie walked into his office. "Guys left for the locale," he said, closing the door behind him, a faint scowl in his tone. Derrick nodded, as if he didn't notice, and put the papers away. This was the second time his men left for their weekly poker game alone, and it seemed this time Charlie had opted to stay behind as well, and the look in his eyes clearly telling Derrick the reason for that choice.

He didn't comment, just looked back. Shaking his head, Charlie walked to the chair in front of his desk. "What's going on, Derrick?" he asked, and settled down. "The men are getting worried."

He arched his eyebrow. "You mean you're getting worried," he corrected.

Charlie gave him a look. "I'm one of your men," he said placidly, "Of course, I am."

"Tavian is gone," he said, "We need to—"

Charlie interrupted him, "I wasn't talking about Tavian."

"Charlie," he warned.

Though, this time his man didn't listen. "Lodi betrayed us, you walked into a trap, only to be saved by Batman himself," he declared instead, and pushed forward. "And you sent Georgina away, but you pretend like nothing happened."

Well, he supposed this had been coming for a time. Briefly, he pondered the difficulties of life, and wondered what his older teacher would have called it, another defense mechanism? Yes, he was pretending like nothing had happened because what else he could he do? He could barely understand what _had_ happened. He remembered yesterday, remembered what Selina Kyle had said... He couldn't understand what he was doing, but he would never let anything happen to Gi. Never. "Charlie," he said, and allowed himself a brief sigh before continuing, "I didn't send Georgina away. She wanted to leave."

"What do you mean?" the man asked.

"She wanted to leave with Elena. She said the woman needed her, and she couldn't let her down." He paused a second. "She said I didn't love her anymore."

"What?" Charlie asked incredulously. "Didn't you tell her you do?"

He laughed bitterly. "Of course, I do," he said. "I think it's just that _she_ doesn't love me anymore."

Charlie shook his head. "You should call her," he insisted, "and talk. This is madness. You've always—" Then he stopped suddenly, his eyes widened, "Derrick," he looked at him carefully, "you do, don't you?"

His expression hardened, not liking where the conversation was leading. "Yes," he snapped. "And enough with my _love life_," he warned. "She's better off anyway." His head craned to see outside, "It's not safe for her anymore here. They—"

"What's happening with you and that Kyle woman?" Charlie abruptly asked, "What was she doing here yesterday?"

His head snapped back, Derrick stared at his man sternly, and if he were anyone else, he would have already started bleeding, ruining his carpet. But Charlie wasn't anyone else. He was his closest man, he was—his friend. He looked at his friend, and said, "You don't like her."

Charlie shook his head. "I _don't_ trust her," he contradicted. "She's—weird. Didn't you see her yesterday? She took down an armed man without breaking a sweat and then she did that _thing_," he flinched, her eyes darting to his crotch. For a moment, he felt glad that Charlie hadn't seen what she had done _afterward._

He wanted to learn though. "What did you do with him in the safe house?" he asked.

"Nothing of importance," he dismissed his worry. "And you don't need to worry, Charlie. She's okay."

"She's dangerous," Charlie retorted, "She used _you_ to get back with her family."

He shook his head. "She paid me _back_." Charlie opened his mouth, but he raised his hand. "And enough with Selina, too—"

Charlie's eyes narrowed. "_Selina_—?"

"Enough with _Ms. Kyle_, too," he bit off, "We need to talk."

"About what?"

Derrick gave him a look. "About what we should have been talking about in the first place—" Charlie rolled his eyes slightly. His look grew more pointed. "Business. Tavian is gone," he repeated, "We'll need to start from the beginning."

Nodding Charlie asked, "Have something in mind?"

Giving him another look, Derrick sighed then admitted, "Not yet."

* * *

"We're late," Bruce protested over her assault on his neck, his back against the office's wall.

She nicked his pulse with the tip of her teeth, and smiled when his skin shuddered under her lips. "We're fashionably late."

He smirked at his own words, and inched away from the wall. "Thirty minutes," he said, "it's not fashionable anymore—" Valerie pouted as he pulled her too, "Besides, we've already categorized the 'against the wall.'"

"At _home_," she pointed out as Bruce dragged her to the door, "not here." She gave him half of a smirk. "We need to cross reference. Besides, Pearson Chemicals is due to arrive in one hour. We're not late."

"We're late for Ms. Tate."

She made a face. "Like I care about _that_."

Opening the door, he slanted at her a look. "Be nice. If we're gonna do this campaign, you'll need to work with her."

Exiting from the room, Valerie huffed. "Seriously, just shoot me if I have a good idea again."

He smiled, and started walking to the elevator. Following him, Valerie sighed. "At least you still have the decency not to bring her to your office."

He pressed the button below the top. "Valerie, baby, your capacity to hold grudges over silly things sometimes really astounds me."

"It's not silly," she protested with wide opened eyes, "It's very logical."

He grinned. "Like you being jealous?"

She scowled. "I'm not jealous."

"Keep telling yourself that, Mrs. Wayne."

A smile suddenly broke on her lips, and she scooted over him. "I like it when you call me that."

He kissed her briefly on the lips. "I know."

She smiled wider.

When they walked into Tate's office, Fox and Jenny were already in the room, seated around the table in the office's adjoined meeting room. Bruce flashed them a smile, walking to the long table, as Valerie followed. "Hiya, folks," he settled on the place at the head of the table, and Valerie sat on his right side, "Sorry for being late," he said in a chirpy voice.

Jenny muttered something unrecognizable, but the rest of the room kept their silence. For Fox, there was a good explanation, but the older man stayed as expressionless as his other associates. Valerie turned to her, and arched her eyebrow in a quizzical way.

Ms. Tate, sitting to Fox's left, took the sketches from the table. "Wayne Marketing—" she said, her voice slightly high, as she slid the prototypes over to Bruce, "prepared a few ads for the campaign. If you give us a green light, we can proceed."

Bruce glanced at the drawings. "Change the Future," he read.

From other side of the table, still typing on her tablet, Jenny nodded. "There were a few others—" She lifted her head, "Rekindle the Hope, Hope Rekindled, Light in the Darkness—" She smiled briefly, "But they all seemed too dramatic."

"Yes," Bruce agreed. "It's probably best if we go for lighter."

Next to him, Valerie shook her head, her eyes on the drawings. "No, it still gives the wrong message. It's too—_big_." They all looked at her. Sighing, she hesitated briefly telling Bruce she was picking the words carefully.

"When we first heard about Harvey Dent—" Her eyes skipped to him for a split second, "we felt—disturbed—for being lied to by people who thought it was _better_ for us. Like we're children that need to be protected from the ugly realities of life." She shook her head. "But we're not children, we're adults, and we need to behave like it. We have to stand for ourselves. We shouldn't wait for others to fight our battles. We need to fight our _own_ battles."

He exchanged a glance with Fox, who had been looking at Valerie strangely, his gaze speculatively close to—surprise. Bruce wasn't surprised. It wasn't every day Valerie showed this— considerate, almost mature side of hers, but it was one of the parts of her that he loved best. "But what are our battles?" she asked after a pause, and returned to Jenny. "Jennifer, what are your battles? What do you care for most?" She leaned over the table. "Do you _really_ want to change the future? Could you really sacrifice your own world to change _the world_?"

"I—"

"You couldn't," she pulled back, went on before Jenny could say anything else. "And it's okay. We're not heroes. And we can't change the world." Her eyes skipped to him again. "But we can make a difference. To have a better life, for us, and for our loved ones. But that—" Her finger pointed at the sketches, "doesn't tell us that. Its message is too big, too theoretical, too—vague. We don't want to create a dream. We want to create a _reality_." She paused for a breath. "And that reality has to be individual, has to be sustainable. It has to be—possible."

"Then change your future," Bruce said, his eyes returning to the words, "Not the future, but change _your_ future for your own good."

A smile appeared on Fox's lips. "If everyone sweeps in front of his own door, the whole world will be clean."

"Exactly," Bruce said with the same smile.

"Change Your Future." Jenny nodded, impressed. "Yes, I think that'd work."

Valerie shot her a smirk, crossing her arms over her chest. "Of course, it will, darling," she said smugly. "I came up with it."

* * *

"I'd make a damn good copywriter," Valerie exclaimed on their way back to the manor.

Pulling the car out of the park, Bruce rolled his eyes slightly. "Yeah, you have a knack for spinning things in the way you want them."

"Hey," she said, punching him lightly on his shoulder, "that was a very good idea."

He threw her a glance, and smiled. "Want me to shoot you?"

Her eyes fell to his crotch. "Ah, would you, Mr. Wayne?"

"Only if you want me to, Mrs. Wayne."

A small smile blossomed on her lips, and she rested her head on the headrest as her eyes closed. "I _really_ like when you call me that, Bruce."

His hand moved toward her lap, and he held her hand. "It was really good, baby."

She opened her eyes, and craned her neck to look at him. "I think it'll really work, Bruce," she said. "If voices are raised every time the judges try to let someone out on parole, they will need to proceed very carefully. They wouldn't dare face such public hate."

"Yeah, and we should fix an appointment with Vale, too," he said, taking the exit for the Palisades. "She might be able to help."

Valerie nodded back. "Yes, her reputation would be to our benefit, and she'd actually truly want to help." She paused for a second. "She wants to make a difference, too. She will understand."

Making a left, he darted his eyes to her, recalling the talk they had had on the manor's staircase. "Valerie," he said softly, "You told me once that this—what we're doing here is important to you." With the corner of his eyes, he caught hers narrowing. "That it's good for you—" He halted for a second before asking. "Is this what you feel? Do you feel like you make a difference?"

He knew it made her—happy, he still remembered how happy she had been when they had saved that girl the first time he had brought her to the cave, but he never hadn't been sure of the reason, had never managed to bring himself to question it. There were so many things unsaid between them, so many things, so long.

She didn't speak at first, and even though his attention was divided between her and the road, he could plainly see she was wrestling to find the right words. "Yes, I guess, it does," she carefully said after a while. "I feel like I'm doing _something_, something good. And it makes me feel—good." She looked at him. "You, Bruce?" she asked. "It makes you feel good, too?"

The question for a moment threw him off as his smile vanished, and the next he realized that he didn't know how to answer. No one had asked him that before, even Alfred. Batman had never made him feel good, no, he just made him feel less—angry, with—everything. It also gave him what he needed, what he had thought he needed; a purpose, and it was enough, enough to keep him going even when all the world and logic practically begged him not to.

But that also had changed. His eyes caught the golden band on the hand that still held hers. "It makes me feel—_better_," he answered, he looked back at her. "The only thing that makes me feel good is you."

Her hand squeezed his. "And I will always," she promised.

He smiled, turning his eyes back to the road.

Suddenly, she giggled. He looked at her questionably. "What?" he asked.

She giggled more. "We just _talked_, didn't we?"

Smiling again, he admitted. "I guess we did."

"Without an episode, without pushing and shoving... like normal couples?"

Letting a sigh out, he pulled his hand back. "Yeah."

"Wow," she said, her face in a mask of complete awe. "We're getting so much better at this."

"Wonders of wonders," he snickered.

She launched herself at him, and stole a kiss. "Darling," she purred over his ear, "We should celebrate this."

Pushing her away from his sight, he entered into Wayne driveway. "We will—" he conceded, and turned off the car. "Later."

She got off out of the car, and came to his side. "And I'll make you feel very _good_."

Climbing the main staircase, he pulled her toward him. "And I'll make you feel even—_better_."

She moved even closer, and her husky breath whispered into his ear, "How many times?"

"As much as you can take," he whispered back. "Until you faint again."

She pushed herself off him, and scowled. "I didn't faint." He gave her a look, a smirk that spoke volumes. "You didn't make me faint, Bruce Wayne, with your—engines."

His smirk growing wider, he challenged, "I definitely did."

Giving him a look, she continued climbing the steps. "No, you didn't!"

He followed. "So you don't want me to show you the new upgrades?"

His question halted her in front of the door, then she turned to him and asked slowly, "New upgrades?"

"Fox upgraded the Batpod's motor, too," he explained with a teasing in his tone as he closed on in her at the door, and smiled at her. "Pity you don't want to try it. I was looking for an opportunity for a test drive."

Still motionless, she took a hitched breath. "Oh."

"Yeah," he said, still smiling, and went on causally, "We might have gotten carried away. It _literally_ shakes the grounds."

"Oh," she breathed out again.

He laughed. "Yes."

Her teeth took her bottom lip and her eyes glazed, and this time he knew the posture wasn't an act. He pushed her back against the door, while he _still_ had the upper hand in the game, and wondered if she might take it well. For a moment, he felt they were wandering into dangerous territory again, but they needed to test the waters. So he tested, "You dreamed about it, didn't you?"

"You know the answer," she mumbled, her eyes still fixed on him.

He opened the lock behind her. "I did it, too," he said, as his other hand lightly caressed her cheek, and decided to test a little further, "When I saw you sprawled on—"

She jumped on him before he could finish, and ordered, her legs coiling around his waist, "Cave. _Now."_

He didn't make her repeat herself. He kicked the door open, and almost dropped her in the hall.

"Arghh—" Valerie exclaimed, trying to find her balance. She gave him a look, then her eyes narrowed, and she turned her head back.

"Selina!" she exclaimed.

Bruce put her down, and looked at Alfred who stood behind the sofa where Selina sat, her face stony, without a trace of her usual amusement.

"Selina," he greeted, regaining his composure, and took a step away from Valerie. "What are you doing here?"

Still expressionless, Selina stood up, and said placidly, "I need to talk with you." She raised her hand to show a yellow dossier.

With the corner of his eyes, he caught Valerie's eyebrows rise under her hairline. "What is this?" he asked, looking at the folder.

Selina walked closer to them. "A man attacked me yesterday," she started. His eyes narrowed on the plaster on her neck.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She went on as if he hadn't asked, "We caught him—"

He interrupted again, "We—?"

"Derrick Malkin," Selina answered shortly.

He scowled further, but after a second curtly nodded and motioned her to go on. "I managed to get a name," she said, "Navel Lanner. He works for the Charming Devil. Alex thinks if we get him, we get this devil, too."

"And you came to me, because—?" he asked as Valerie titled her head to Selina.

Selina looked at Valerie first then turned back to him. "Valerie told me to give you whatever I have to prove that I care," she said, and lifted the folder up. "Here—" She threw it at the coffee table. "Everything we know. It's yours."

She passed them and walked to the door. "Selina," he asked after her, "Why are you doing this?"

In front of the door, she halted. "Because," she turned aside, and said, "I'm better than this."

* * *

Half an hour after Selina left, a photo of Navel Lanner was hung on the white board in the cave, Bruce beside it and she perched on her stool, and the Batpod, with its ground shaking new engines, stood just a few feet away from them, looking so—_alone_. Poor thing.

"Navel Lanner," he said, as she stood up and walked to the giant bike. His brows pulled into a frown as her eyes followed her. "Did you look at the files?" he asked, his tone getting edgier as she brushed her fingers over the leather seat.

"Yes," she answered, swinging her leg over it. "Of course, I did."

"Valerie—" he warned.

She leaned forward on the saddle, and slipped her hands into the handles. "I'm just trying it."

He walked to her, and catching her waist, he pulled her off. "Bruce!" she exclaimed.

"You're not going near that thing before we're done here."

"But—"

"Valerie—" he warned again.

She turned around, pressed against his chest, and lifted her head. She gave him a wicked smile. "Too distracting?"

"_Yes!_"

"Just tell me how you dreamed it," she pressed further, remembering what _he_ had done to her on the stairs. "Then I'll be a good girl."

His eyes closed, as he took in a hitched breath. "Probably not a good idea."

She laughed, silky and dirty. "Behind me?" His eyes snapped open, and Valerie saw the hazel had darkened into brown. "The motors were on, too, I suppose."

"Not a good idea," he forced out.

She laughed more, and tried to calculate how much time _that_ would require, and tried to decide if they could spare time, then decided "why not?" They were newlyweds after all. "Naked?" so she asked.

He shook his head. "No."

Tilting her head, she gave him a look. "My _new_ boots?"

He touched her cleavage where her ring-necklace hung between her breasts. "And this."

She let out another husky laugh. "And nothing else?"

"You know the answer."

She shook her head, still laughing, and gave a peck on his lips. "You, naughty, possessive boy," she taunted, "You _really_ should have told me about it before."

Bruce dropped his head. "I also dreamed it in the Tumbler, _on_ the Tumbler." His head sharply lifted at her _confession._ "They are so—_you_; big, bulking—" Her smile turned wolfish but before she could finish, he turned her around, threw her on the Batpod on her stomach and walked behind her.

Her dress rose over her hips as he stationed himself, hovering behind her. Her eyes skipped to left where their reflection plastered on the glass vault, and she congratulated herself for her wardrobe choice for today. Granted it wasn't anything like Bruce's first preference, but when he craned his neck and their eyes met, she _knew_ he wouldn't mind.

"When we're done here, Mrs. Wayne," he whispered into her ear, his eyes riveted on hers in the reflection. "Fox will have our hides for this."

She laughed as his fingers caught the garter that held her stockings, then his other hand caught hers inside the handle, and turned on the motor, and the bike started _vibrating_ under her, and she—_OH!_

* * *

After taking a swipe over the bike's surface, Bruce threw the rag into the waste bin, and took another—cleaner one. She opened her mouth, but he held up his hand.

"Not a word," he warned as he took another swipe to clean—their mess. Smiling, she mimicked a zipping gesture over her mouth, her eyes still laughing. God, Fox would really get his hide for this.

After throwing away the last cloth, Bruce took the polishing gel, and started to apply it over the saddle, where she'd gotten it—much messier. His frown deepened further as he polished the dark matte surface, and Valerie couldn't help it anymore. "It's just damn impractical—"

"Valerie—" he warned again, this time sterner.

"How I am supposed to drive it if I get an orgasm every time I climb on it?"

He gave her a look. "You're not supposed to drive it," he said in clipped tones. "It's for me, and the—codpiece of the armor will cover for me."

She barked out a laugh. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say!"

Putting the polish aside, he stood up and crossed his arms over his chest. Her eyes widened. "But, it's _mine!_" she exclaimed, hopping down from her perch. "You have the Tumbler, I have the Batpod. It's adequate."

"Valerie—"

"I just _came_ all over it!"

He racked his hands through his hair. "More reason why you _shouldn't_ drive it," he mumbled under his breath.

She wrapped her arms around his neck with a smile. "Now, darling, who doesn't like having some fun while kicking ass?" He opened his mouth but she beat him to it. "Besides, I have better tactical advantages." He raised an eyebrow. She grinned. "If you want to catch a mob or something, all you have to do let me drive it around for a few minutes, then you can catch the guys while they gawk at me."

"You're _such_ a strategist."

She titled her head at him. "So that was a yes?"

He grumped, but conceded, "We'll—negotiate."

She smiled wide. "As long as you keep your engines running."

He pulled her arms off of his neck, and steered her back to her stool. "Let's shut them off for a little while," he said and turned to the white board. "Navel Lanner," he remarked, and fixed his eyes on the man, his stare boring a hole through the paper. "_The Gambler_."

She inhaled. "Ah. Yes. The Gaming Expo," she said, she _really_ read the files. "You're a fast strategist, too, honey."

He turned to her and smirked.

"So should we go and prepare?" she asked carefully, wondering if another negotiation was imminent. They still hadn't gotten that far in the talks, _overseas expeditions_, and despite the fact she had just opened a new front on the negotiations and had basically won, she wondered if they were going to have a second "the Arkham Conflict", or another "the Puerto Rico Dispute". This was different than asking to drive a ground shaking giant bike, but wonders of wonders, her husband really proved that he was learning to be something else.

"Just leave the Barbarella costume at home," he said after a moment of silence.

Oh, she could definitely do that. It wasn't like it was going to be the suit she was going to need.

* * *

Miles away from the cave, the numbers and symbols in the visual world shifted as they ran vertically over the screen, then halted. The best hacker the money could buy straightened his back, as his company leaned over, and together they watched the results transfer onto the digital map of Gotham, and the dots clustered into northern part of the city that was indicated as Wayne Manor.

The dealer and the hacker exchanged a look then smiled at each other.

* * *

The next morning, in the heart of the city, Jennifer Gardner, the _best_ executive assistant that one could ever hire was having the worst of worst mornings after learning the newlyweds had left the city on another impromptu trip to Costa Rica, for the honeymoon that they had confirmed they didn't need.

And Jenny wasn't a little bit surprised, not even a bit.

Staying in the office alone, she sent a message to the General; "The target is on move; the estimated destination; Costa Rica. The local agent is to be alerted."

* * *

Back in the cave, in the vault Valerie had stashed her spare phone a lone chirp beeped as another message arrived from a long absent friend.

"_Long time, no see, miss me, Fi—Oh! Or should I call you Mrs. Wayne now?"_

* * *

_Finally we got to this point as the real story finally begins :)_

_"Change Your Future"; this thing was one of the things I wanted to do since I started writing this series, one of the reasons, too, as sometimes I really feel like this; as Rachel Corrie said, "__I can't save the planet single-handedly._ I can wash dishes." but I suppose we can all 'wash' dishes, or at least try to. And I was supposed to start on this arc during Solomon, together with Vicki's sub-story, had to change the plans. Better late than never, I guess.

_And with this, "we've taken our first step into a larger world" like it wasn't *large* enough already. Heh.  
_

_"Bike action" was mostly inspired by my long absent friend/author **Team Damon**'s story, and then reminded me by another friend/author, **persevera **in which she used the most artistic "bike" ever, a giant horse :) Honestly, I blame them for that one :p_

_Until the second part, take care._


	5. The Message - Part II

_**Chapter Five**_

_**The Message – Part II**_

* * *

Gotham. They were finally in Gotham.

The city was sleepless, glinting like fireflies in the darkness, and Jeremy looked at the twirling buildings over the horizon, where Wayne Building majestically rose.

Wayne Enterprises.

The world was a funny place. Who would have guessed that the new Empress for the Empire that cast its shadow on the entire land would be their red lipped she-devil?

Stifling a yawn with the back of his hand, Jeremy looked around. The city really was sleepless, buzzing with energy even at two in the morning. To his left, there were renovations on the city's central park grand entrance, and to his right, a cluster of people tried to stretch a massive poster on the each side of the street. Sean was still trying to hail a taxi next to him. If there was one way in which Gotham was similar with London it was that the taxis were always occupied. Another passed them at the top speed, and Sean cursed loudly after it.

Turning away from the people who had just finished with the poster, he lifted his head to look at it then shifted his look at his companion, then back again at the bright yellow poster. "Change your future," he read, with a smile in his tone, and swallowed the rest of the words; Bruce Wayne Foundation.

Sean's head snapped at him, his hand still up in the air, "What?"

Jeremy pointed up, and Sean's eyes followed. "Change Your Future," he said again, his voice now almost a snicker. "Ironic, isn't it?" he asked. Sean scowled. "Her future has _really_ changed."

Turning his back, Sean waved his hand at another taxi, and sneered. "We'll see."

Jeremy's eyebrow raised as it stopped right beside them, but he didn't comment. He didn't expect the dealer to be exuberant like him at two in the morning after a long flight. While he sat on the back seat of the car, he asked himself once again what exactly he thought was doing, together with Sean of all people. Perhaps, the world really was a funny place. His eyes flickered outside, where the big poster shone yellow in the midst of fireflies then he pulled out his phone and checked his messages. It wasn't likely that he would miss anything, but he wanted to be sure, he wanted to be sure that Fi was _still_ ignoring him.

Two days, two days had passed since the time they had sent the message but she was still silent. And _that_ was troublesome. Felicia should have already made contact by now. The message was clear, almost brutally crystal.

Sean gave him a questioning look, and he shook his head to confirm. The dealer's eyes turned graver, his face blank white, but all in honesty he couldn't be sure about the reason of paleness, almost forty hours in search, and sixteen of it in commercial flights... and with a baby crying the _whole_ time behind their seats, god, he shook his head, a curse under his tongue. Sometimes he really hated babies.

"Are you sure she got the message?" Sean asked.

Jeremy nodded, as the driver started to pass through the radio channels, and he felt like a wail was going to erupt from his chest. If he was forced to listen to any pop shit after that baby's screams, he might scream himself. "Yes, otherwise I would get a notification," he answered almost dismissively, and confirmed, "It's been received."

"Why hasn't she returned it yet then?" his companion asked snappish, like he would know the answer. Blocks, he was a hacker, not a wizard. "She should have given us countless calls by now," the dealer went on, with an apparent glee in his voice, and a glint in his eyes.

Giving the man a look, Jeremy wondered if _that _was the reason Sean wanted to find her. Having the upper hand over her. He knew they had always had a difficult relationship, and he guessed having the upper hand over her might sound quite good to Sean. But then he couldn't blame the dealer for that, could he? Not when he himself was thinking the same thing. So was _that_ the reason why he wanted to find her? No, that was stupid. He liked Fi. She could be—inconsiderate, yes, but she had always played nice with him. He didn't want to hurt her. Not really.

Never mind. They were here now, and since they were, there would be _other_ benefits too, certainly, but the question was...where the hell was she?

Then as if his question was heard by someone above, the radio started talking, "Oh, yeah, Change Your Future? We heard the news. Wayne's latest toy—" the female voice remarked laughing, "and just after they announced it, he took off to San José with _wifey_—" she paused then exclaimed, "San José! I kid you not, sweetie. They went to San José for their honeymoon! I mean, who goes to San José for their honeymoon? I mean, do you even know where San José is?"

Leaning back, the questions and worries left his mind, and Jeremy looked at Sean who looked at him back with the same smile on his lips.

* * *

Gazing out from the haunting parkade they had found in the middle of San José, Valerie eyed the city. Poverty, that sticky redundant presence was the first thing she had noticed, carved into the walls, plaster, cement, and tiles. Poverty had its own odor, mixed with despair and neglect, but it suited their plans perfectly.

If she had to be honest with herself, Bruce's plan lacked his normal tactical supports but still it was nothing short of miraculous what her husband could set into motion so quickly when the situation demanded.

She lifted her head, and across from her corner, her eyes found him. Unique, he was a truly unique man, and she was _so_ lucky to have him, to have something that remarkable. He turned to her to counter her admiring look with a quizzical half of smile. Getting herself out of her lovely-dovey ogling, she smiled back a little and bumped her heel on the hard cement floor.

"Okay, if we're going to play 'who talks first'," she said, as the sound of her heel echoed around the airy level, then she craned her neck to look over the opening between the parkade's colons, "We'll need _two_."

Dropping his backpack down, Bruce knelt, and started to pull out the ropes and duct tape, as her eyes traveled their surroundings to determine the vantage points. "Well, we'll go grab and retrieve," he answered.

Pivoting her body to right, she peeked out below. "More like 'bait and fish'."

"Are you sure you can hit him?" he asked, lifting his head up from the backpack.

Turning back, she passed him. "Don't insult me."

Bowing his head, he faintly laughed back.

All right, bait and fish. She knew the "who talks first" interrogation technique usually involved two blindfolded captives in a helicopter and tossing one out to get the other to talk, but when the options became limited, you just needed to compromise.

Smiling, she looked at the opening between the colons again, and tried to calculate the distance between the floor they were on now and the pavement below. Oh, well, that was going to be fun.

Though, _that_ wasn't going to be funny, not really. Because the _fun part_ was going to start after they threw the poor man out. Under normal circumstances when interrogators tossed the captive out they meant it. So the fun part was going to be tossing the guy out _without_ actually killing him while making the other one believe that they had.

Momentarily she sighed, and peeked out of the opening again. They really couldn't do anything "under normal circumstances".

Standing up, Bruce walked to her. "Are you ready?"

She smiled back at him. "Always."

* * *

The day had started well for Navel Lanner. For one thing, Costa Rica was an absolutely beautiful city, if you overlooked the slums of the city that were ridden with crime and corruption, and marinated with poverty and famine, but which city hadn't the oldest twins?

The weather was nice, the hotel was fantastic, the girls were leggy and bosomy, and the gamblers were idiots, and the best of it was, there was no work to consider. For once they were here only for the gambling, like old times, only for the craze of rolling dice and the thrill of the parties.

Yes, this venture was going much better than Navel had expected. At first it had been designed as nothing more than a cover for the meeting with Moldavians. It had been his idea, one of his best actually; a perfect cover for their kind of business, almost poetic, and he had participated in gaming expos for years, and the boss had accompanied him a couple of times. No one would have raised an eyebrow, but then they received the news. Well, the boss had received it. The next thing he knew, they were on an extended holiday. At first it seemed bizarre, the notion of a holiday was absurd for them, but then Navel understood better what was happening when Ryan cancelled all of his appointments for the month. The orders were from the upper levels, it was clear—even though the reasons weren't—that they were meant to stagnate.

Navel knew these interims well, the time between the jobs, where they were forced into hiding. So donned in a bathrobe, he lounged in the sauna, waiting his turn for another massage.

* * *

Christian Rifts, the man's name turned, over and over again in his mind, as Thomas listened to Eddie, and his excuses. Excuses, all the excuses, a fucking trip around the globe, and at the end all he had gotten was excuses, and a ghost name. "I want that man, Eddie," he snapped, cutting through another string of explanation. "I want him now."

"I know," Eddie said from the other side of the line, his voice barely civil, "And I'm trying my best. But you ask miracles from me."

"I don't ask for miracles," Thomas seethed, "I ask for a man."

"And I'm answering," Eddie countered. "I'm giving you all of his life story; finished med school, worked at London General, then got involved with the mob, he has gambling problems, and an unsatisfied witch for a wife, the same old story; becoming a mob doctor, he's a good one, too. Very, very good. Rumors say he was on the team that did the first face transplantation—"

Something clinked in his mind with the last word. "Say again?" he demanded, "What he did do?"

"The face transplantation," Eddie replied, "you know, sci-fi stuff. They remade a poor boy's disfigured face after a dog bit him, transferred another boy's face to his, the triangle of it—" the private detective paused, "And why I am telling you about this?"

His heart started to beat faster. The idea was so unworldly, almost too absurd to be real, those kinds of things happened in the books and movies, not in the real world. It couldn't be, but still... He turned away from Hollis. "Is there anything else?"

"Well," Eddie said, his voice now highly skeptical, and Thomas almost felt like he knew what was coming next. Through his mind, the photos he had seen from Hollis passed rapidly, the mysterious Felicia Bale, harsh features, full lips, tilted eyes, and another woman, the woman who had gotten him tangled further in this shit; Valerie, so, so close to her, and so familiar, Valerie...

"Well," Eddie repeated, "There is also rumors that he used to—well, you know, help people who have—uh—identity problems. Mob bosses and such, a new page, clean slate, etc etc. I'm not sure, but, it's been said he isn't around because of it. Because he remade a mob boss' face, and they—you know, dealt with it."

Thomas smiled. "I doubt that," he said, no trace of his earlier agitation in his voice. And all the missing parts started to fill in, dropping into their places; Felicia Bale, Cameron Reese who had been working in Wayne Enterprises rescued by her boss in a drunken accident... He wondered if the fool ever knew what he had gotten into, Thomas mentally snickered, and Selina and Valerie. How _they_ became involved was still a mystery but Thomas was beginning to understand.

Selina somehow must have learned her secret then they had started their own battle, bringing Thomas into the middle of their battlefield. And he had just opened a new front, and this time it was he who held all the chips.

His smile growing wider, he turned to Hollis. The former investigator looked at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Hollis… He would need to deal with Hollis. His smile fading, he nodded at him. "I'm leaving," he said.

"What happened?" Hollis asked, "What did he say?"

"Our deal is off," Thomas informed him. He would need to deal with Hollis, yes, but for now that could wait. "I suggest you to return to London. Felicia Bale won't be a problem for you. Return to London, Hollis," he repeated, and started to advance on the man, "and proceed with your life as before. And stay away from Selina, too. We were chips in a turf war between two women, but it's ended now."

Without any further word, he turned to the door. "Where are you going?" the former investigator asked.

He smiled, and walked out without answering. He was going to where all roads led; he was going back to Gotham.

* * *

Now, it was time for the grab and retrieve. And at times like these, despite for her craze for attention, Valerie really hated being famous. Perhaps they had made another tactical mistake with their Vegas 'plan' and managed to screw up yet another well-thought plan. With news of their impromptu marriage, they ruined all of her sacrifices of letting Bruce go to the parties without her in order not to gain public fame. Maybe they would just let the press have their time with them. Soon they would get bored by it, then move to another victim. If Tabula Rasa worked they wouldn't need to worry about it any longer.

God, she couldn't wait the day they were rid of the media's Brulerie … Of course, when it came to smashed nicknames, it wasn't Vruce but Brulerie. She frowned. Why did _he_ have to be on the top of everything?

Grunting under her breath, she slipped through the spa's restricted areas, closed to everyone but staff, and passed the card through the electronic lock and walked out into the dimly lit corridor.

Her head bowed for the expected gesture of reverence, she walked through the corridors, her steps quick but short from the tight hem around her ankles. And really, these clogs were the most uncomfortable piece of clothing she had ever put on, and if she didn't loosen the wide silken belt around her waist like now, she would suffocate. She checked the corridor under her bowed head, loosening the knot of the belt she walked into the room where their target waited, stretched out on the massage table, his face in the hole in the table.

"In," she whispered before she walked to him.

"Three minutes," Bruce answered.

Ugh, three minutes. She really, really hated fame now. She always hated giving massages. She reached for the scented oil, poured it onto her palms, and started to warm up her hands.

Really, grab and retrieve would have been much easier if they had been in Gotham. They would have just crashed one of the parties, Bruce in his armor, and her in her suit... A smile crept on her lips. Her in her suit, then her eyes flickered down…toward the man in front of her. Dammit! She'd dreamed about wearing her suit, and not some exotic geisha costume, and she'd dreamed about kicking things, or throwing people out, for that matter...

With an inward sigh, her eyes returned to man's body, and god, so much hair... she closed her eyes for a second, and held in the huff on the edge of her mouth before starting the massage.

As soon as she touched on his back, the man let out a small whimper, close to a sigh. She rolled her eyes. "Two minutes," Bruce warned in her ear. Two minutes. Two minutes, she could do this for two minutes.

Her hands moved up, and closed in on the bundle of nerves on the side of the neck. She worked on the angle of where his shoulder and neck met and the man gave out a louder whimper, this time close to a gasp. "Oh, you're good—" She twisted his muscles harder, and heard a crack, as the man groaned, "Very, very good."

"Three minutes," Bruce said then ordered, "Take him out." Oh, with pleasure. Her fingers moved from the joint to the bundle, and she pressed on it in the way Bruce had taught her. Her victim buckled for three seconds before he let out a whimper, and passed out.

As the fire alarm screeched around the luxury spa, she pulled the man off of the table, at the same time as Bruce, in his staff uniform, ran into the small cozy scented room. He threw the broomstick in his hand away, and grabbed the man by his armpits.

"The cameras?" she asked, as she took the man's other arm.

"Offline," Bruce confirmed, as he stood up. "Let's go."

Nodding, Valerie opened the door and they walked out, blending into the throng of people who tried to rush out of the building under the emergency sirens and the water that was raining from the fire sprinkles above.

Running along Bruce with her quick but short steps, her head still bowed, she smiled and opened the door that was for staff. As they moved through the corridor with the other staff, one of them asked, "What happened to him?"

Hiding his face with the cap, Bruce answered, still walking, "Smoke, he must be allergic." The man nodded as they hurried by then they hid in one of the closets to wait for the corridor to clear.

In the closet, Valerie giggled, leaning on the mats and detergents. "That wasn't too bad," she said.

Bruce nodded, giving her costume a look. "No, it wasn't."

Valerie rolled her eyes. "Don't _even_ think about it."

He laughed, steadying the man who had started to slip down.

She bent down, and tore the tight hem around her ankles, "Did you pick up the other guy?" she asked.

He nodded. "He's in the trunk." When she finished, he nodded again. "Let's go."

She didn't make him repeat the order. She pushed the door open, and walked out in the desolated corridor, a catty smile creeping on her lips.

Grab and retrieve done, now it was time for the _fun_ part.

Bait and fish.

* * *

It was all perfect. In the gloomy shadows in the parkade, there were two metal chairs, with two blindfolded men on them, secured with ropes and duct tape. Navel was the first. He stirred, coming slowly around, and upon noticing the bindings on his body, he started to scream. Then he tried to rock the chair to free himself. In the meantime the other had woken and started doing the same. Her gloved hands slapped both of them then she shouted, 'Be quiet, both of you." The guttural screams stopped on her command, and Valerie hissed, "The next one who starts screaming, I toss him out."

His head titled to side, Bruce watched her with a smile as she took control. Being the good cop, she was behind the wheel this time, and when Navel asked her who she was, she told him that too, "I'm the good cop."

The man started to stir again. "Let me go right now, and I'll—"

She slapped him again. She was the good cop, yes, but that didn't mean she was going to be _nice_. "You're not talking the way I want," she warned, and asked shortly, "Where is the Charming Devil?"

The men laughed, and she accompanied them too. "It's funny, isn't it?" she asked, "Me asking you nicely—" This time she punched at him in the nose. The man wailed, blood dripping from his nose. "Look at you," she said, relaxing her fisted hand, and turning to Bruce. Briefly inclining his head, he moved from his post and took both men's chairs. He dragged them to the edge, as the men started screaming again.

"Is this set up familiar to you guys?" she asked as Bruce held them at the edge of the open space.

She walked around Bruce, and leaned forward toward the seated men, "Oh, yes, we're playing 'who will talk first?'" She turned to Navel, "You, Navel?" she turned back to the other man, "Or you, darling?"

Bruce pushed them forward as soon as she finished, and they started screaming even louder. "Where is the Devil?" she shouted, "I'm such a bad girl, boys, I want to see the devil. Where is he?" Her lips moved to Navel's ears, "Where is my Devil?"

No answer. Straightening back, she let out a loud laugh, almost maniacally, and nodded at Bruce, taking her tranquilizer. "Okay, then, don't say I didn't warn you," she said just before Bruce pushed the other guy out. The man started wailing as he fell, and Navel started to scream even louder with him. Bruce let him listen to his friend's screams before he caught the guy with the grapple gun as the same time she aimed her tranquilizer.

Just one shot, just one shot, she had one shot, and if she missed... then she fucked it up. Her finger moved, and she pulled the trigger...one, two, three, screams, screams, screams, then... they lessened, coming only from beside her... then silence.

Utter silence, apart from the whimpers next to her, the whole garage sunk into utter silence. Valerie let out a silent breath, seeing the man hanging with the chair in the air, unconscious.

Bruce nodded at her. Hastily she dragged the chair back, as Bruce went back to the other side of the parkade, and hid in the shadows, his figure obscured in the dimly lighted exterior. They needed to hurry now; even in this part of the city a man hanging in the middle of the air would draw attention after a few minutes.

She yanked the blindfold off the man's eyes. He blinked a few times, his eyes fixed on her, more likely on her masked figure. "What the hell—oh god—" he gave out a deep shaky breath, "you bitch, you bitch, you killed Kenny!"

She tilted her head aside. "I thought you would appreciate that I didn't choose you."

"What do you want," he whimpered, "God, what do you want?"

She smiled, getting him in the just the exact position where they had wanted. "The heart of interrogation techniques isn't asking questions," Bruce had said on the plane on their way to San José, "it's getting your _prisoner_ asking questions." The knife glinted in the gloom where Bruce was, and the man's eyes skidded there too. Yes, it wasn't about asking questions, it was getting him to ask questions; 'if they did that to him, what will they do to me?'

The blade glinted again, as the bad cop stayed hidden in the shadows, a tall bulking figure, promising violence and other things. "Most of the times, in interrogations, violence perceived is violence achieved," Bruce had also said, proving himself once again truly unique, "Because once you got him asking 'what will they do to me' his the next question will mostly be 'and what would I do to stop it?'"

"God, what do you want?" Navel asked again.

Slowly, she advanced on him, the interrogation techniques firmly in her mind, her pace deliberate but sleek as she circled him, making the necessary silent assault before talking again. "I'm a woman of many needs, Navel," she replied then after she felt satisfied with the intimidating silence, her voice barely above a whisper in his ear, as she leaned forward, "But you know I want from _you_."

"I can't—I can't—"

"You know my role in this little play of ours, don't you?" she whispered again as her eyes drew to Bruce. Expectedly his followed hers too, "and if I don't get an answer, he's going to try his chances."

A tiny drop of blood appeared on the blade as Bruce cut his finger, and dropped on the pavement. "It's your choice," she breathed in his ear.

"Here—" the man meekly muttered, "Here, he's here."

She drew a sharp breath, and straightened. This was unexpected, and they didn't plan for that, they definitely didn't plan for that. Okay, then, improvising.

She walked in front of him. "He came to the expo," she tried to confirm, her focus truly set on him, and she forced herself not to share a glance with Bruce.

The man nodded. "The new deal with the Moldavians," he started, "We arranged it as a cover—"

"But then let it go—" she completed.

"The orders came—" he said again, "I don't know why—we cancelled the deal—"

Ah, for that she had a very good idea of the reason. "You cancelled the deal, but he asked you to take care of a woman in Gotham," she prodded further.

The man nodded again. "I don't know her," he shook his head, "He asked me—didn't say a reason, just told me to make it good. I fixed it with someone I knew, he was going to do it like she was mobbed."

Valerie nodded. "Where is he?" she asked, "He's in the same hotel?"

He nodded, but then shook his head. "You can't touch him," he said, lifting his head, and his eyes bore into hers through her mask. "You can't touch him—they have friends everywhere."

She smiled. "We have friends everywhere, too, Navel."

"Are you from Interpol?" he asked, letting more and more information slip as he kept asking questions.

She tilted her head with intrigue. "Do I look like I'm from Interpol?" She walked closer, and looked him closely. "The question is, Navel, what are we going to do with you now?"

"I talked—" he said, "I talked—"

"Yes, you did—and by doing so you have also expired your usefulness to me," she pointed out. "Now, give me a reason why I just shouldn't throw you out too?"

His head bowed, he shook it. "I can't—"

She leaned forward, touched his chin, and lifted his head up. "Oh, I think, you can, darling." She paused a second, and a smile widened her lips. "Interpol, you said?"

"They contacted me last year when I was here," he then confessed, "were trying to find a mole."

"But you said no—"

"I'm loyal!" he said, almost fiercely, almost.

"But it didn't stop you from making some contacts," she countered.

"Adam Evans," he said. "He's after the boss. I can call him. We can make a deal."

She straightened, and went to Bruce's side. His phone in his hand, he was already checking the man. "Seems like he's telling the truth," Bruce whispered to her, moving her out of the man's hearing range. He showed her his phone, a man's photo on the screen. "He's registered but I can't see his division."

She frowned, taking a look at the picture. "I thought you'd wormed your way into their database."

"I have," he rasped, "but there must be some authorizations needed to pass the firewalls," he explained, but confirmed, "I can't determine which division now, but he's in the agency."

"So what are we going to do?" she asked, still frowning, "we can't have a walk-in in the middle of _our_ ops."

"We're going to improvise," he said, "Make him call—"

Shaking her head, she cut him off. "Bruce, if we get Interpol involved with this, things will get out of our control."

Not taken aback by that prospect, he remained stoic. "Things have already gotten out of our hand. We're going to deal with it. Take him out," he ordered. "First we need to deal with the man outside."

She gave him another look, and he returned it grimly. In Gotham, they were safe, in Gotham they had Gordon, but if he was willing to do this... She sighed. That was his call. Still extremely not-happy, she nodded and walked back to the man.

She took her phone, and threw it at him. "This better not to be a scam, Navel."

* * *

It wasn't. The agent arrived twenty minutes later, after Bruce pulled the tossed guy in, and stashed him in the left corner. Then he put on his suit, and they waited for the man.

As soon as the agent put a foot inside, Bruce took him out, and a few seconds later Mr. Evans filled the chair that had been the tossed guy's.

Gently slapping his face, Valerie woke the agent. The man came around, and went through the same routine as Navel had, minus the screaming.

And Valerie appreciated it. "I apologize for meeting this way," she said, pulling back, "But I'm sure you'd understand our concerns."

The agent's movements ceased as his eyes fixed on her, slightly widening in his stoic face. Valerie thought she could get used to this reaction. "Who are you?" the man hissed.

"We're people that have the same goals like you," she answered, as the man's eyes skipped to Navel.

"The Charming Devil is here," Bruce stepped out of the shadows, completely in his armor, his hoarse whisper looming in the silent night.

Navel's eyes widened even more than the agent. "Batman—" he muttered.

"He has the info to get him arrested, and he will give it you in exchange of a deal," Bruce set the rules, walking to the agent. He cut the man's bounds. Evans stood. "Take him out, tonight." The agent nodded, his eyes wandering from him to her. Valerie decided to give the man some credit. He took the sudden appearance of Batman (along with his "tag") much better than she had expected.

She moved forward. "There is another package back there," she said, craning her neck to the corner Bruce had stashed the other guy, "don't forget him."

They moved to the open window, and she closed her eyes for a second, realizing what was going to happen. Him and his dramatic exists. She leaped up on the edge at the same time Bruce did.

The agent on the other hand was staring at them, eyes now scrutinizing, and Valerie saw the wheels turning. "How—" the man started, but couldn't complete it as Bruce swiftly took them to the air, leaving behind yet another question unanswered.

* * *

Standing on the first step of the staircase, Valerie realized that she had missed her home. Letting out a sigh, she waited for Bruce as he took their packs from the trunk, and came to her side.

His eyes were fixed on the door that led inside, and her eyes followed, too, to the door he had carried her through many times in his arms, already making out. With a passing thought, she noticed he hadn't carried her inside bridal style. Shaking her head, she laughed silently.

His head turned to her, and he looked at her questionably.

She closed in on him, and let out a sigh. "Bruce," she said, "Gordon won't be able to keep them away now," she said. "What are we going to do?"

He started climbing the stairs. "Valerie, they're an international crime organization. There is no way we could keep this in Gotham if we do this."

"But FBI, Interpol—even the CIA—" She shook her head. "You've gone outside of America."

He took her hand, and squeezed it. "We're going to deal with them," he assured her, his voice heated but certain. It made her feel much better, much like the strong fingers holding hers tightly. He was Batman, nothing would change that.

"If they're as secretive as Selina says," he continued, "then they must have moles everywhere, and Gordon can keep the others at bay only for so long."

She nodded. "I know," she said. "It's just—" she stopped.

His hand squeezed hers. "I know." He paused for a second, his eyes darting away from her, his body tensing. "But it was time to send them a message."

Yes, they had sent them a message, and now they would see how it would be received. She snuggled closer to him, and lifted her head up to him. "And we did," she said.

"And we did," Bruce confirmed.

She smiled, affectionate, and stood in front of the main door. He looked at her. She smiled wider.

"What?" he asked.

"You didn't carry me over the threshold."

The heavy look inside his eyes warmed up as he reflected her smile, and even that look was enough to warm the cold dread she was feeling inside. "You want me to carry you through the door bridal style?"

She shook her shoulders. "It's tradition."

"Your wish is my command, Mrs. Wayne," he said and dropped the metal cases that held their suits. He passed the strap of his backpack that dangled beside his hip to his other shoulder, and leaned down toward her.

She let out a merry half giggle as he swept her off her feet bridal style. He kicked the door open, and started to climb toward their bedroom, his lips already on her skin. As they passed the hall in the second room, she craned her neck to him, and waved her arm off. "No, let's go to the cave," she whispered in his ear. "The Tumbler."

"In the Tumbler or on the Tumbler?" he only asked.

"Both," she panted.

He let out a rasped chuckle, and repeated, "Your wish is my command, Mrs. Wayne."

Inside the Tumbler, outside the Tumbler, _on_ the Tumbler, god, Valerie thought, as her nails scratched the matte surface, breaking her manicure, and taking the paint off, and this time Fox was _really_ going to have their hides.

Giving her lips a chaste kiss, Bruce rolled off of her, and climbed down over his tank. He put on his jeans, and went to the backpack that had dropped beside the Tumbler after he had dropped _her_. She followed his example, slipping down, but instead of her clothes, she put on his cotton shirt.

She walked to him. He pulled the cowl and the mask out of the backpack, and went to put them in the glass vault. Upon seeing her figure, his hands halted, and dropping their masks, he caught her waist, and pulled her closer.

"Like the new look," he said, nibbling her skin under her jaw.

She giggled, and pressed on him further. "I like it, too," she nodded. "Smells like you."

"Hmm—" He hummed, and sniffed, "I like how you smell," he whispered and smiled against her skin. "Especially now. Mixed with my own."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, must be screaming to you, _mine_. The cave is really your natural habitat, honey," she said then her eyes caught on the light of the phone that she had stashed next the glass vault.

She pushed herself out. Bruce gave her a look, and followed her eyes. She took the phone. "What is it?" Bruce asked, as her brows pulled into a scowl.

"A message," she said sotto voice, looking at phone, "a SMS came." Then her face suddenly turned to white, and the phone dropped from her hands, and shattered on the cave's stone floor as the world crumbled down on her.

* * *

The Supreme watched the moon in the sky, as Rosé walked into his study, and just by the sounds her steps made he could tell that she was agitated. _Ah._

"I presume you heard the news," he greeted her, his back still to her.

"Your little traitor—" she snapped, their negotiated civility forgotten, "You even can't get her comply with her orders."

"Her disobedience is going to be answered, Mother," he said stiffly, and turned to her. He had warned Dahlia, he had, but she hadn't listened. She had let her hate cloud her judgment. And a clouded judgment would only be a weakness; and the Supreme would never tolerate any weaknesses.

Rosé nodded briskly. "And that bad-boy?" then she questioned, "How is _his_ disobedience going to be answered?"

He smiled at her. "The boy wanted to send us a message," he replied. "We should let him know that it was received."

* * *

The wind blew through the cottage's shutters, as Donnie walked through the rooms, searching for Dahlia. The storm she had been waiting for was already gathered. They needed to be prepared, the cottage might not live through the gathering storm outside but they still needed to prepare, batten down all the hatches, and hide until it passed. As metaphors as went, Donnie sensed it deep in his bones, the way the small hair on his skin stood up with the electricity in the air, the way the howling wind whispered, but Dahlia was nowhere to be seen.

Then the power went out.

_Terrific. _

With a curse under his breath, he walked into the last room. Illuminated only by the fading moon, it was there that he finally found her. She sat stiffly in front of the window, and from where he stood only the back of her neck was visible, the rest of her body obscured by the armchair. He took a step forward, and the old wooden floor creaked under his feet under the howls of the wind, but she still stayed motionless as the lighting broke in the heart of the darkness, a flash on a black canvas. She didn't even flinch.

"So it's started," Donnie muttered, approaching closer. No movement, no acknowledgement, nothing at all. His eyes narrowed, as another bolt of lightning cracked outside. "Dahlia—" he asked then stopped. In the sudden silence there were only the sounds of the tempest, and as his blood drew off of his veins, his eyes were transfixed by the red liquid slowly slipping over her face from the bullet hole in her forehead. Hands reaching back, desperately looking for his gun, Donnie took steps back from the scene.

"Mr. Meyers," a man monotonously said behind him, "I suggest you to keep your hands away from it." Turning, Donnie faced the intruder. "You won't need it."

His hand still at his back, Donnie looked closer, and it seemed he wasn't lying. The man was standing still, face somber and expressionless, but his hands were empty. "What did you do to her?" he asked.

"I did my job," the man answered. "I cleaned up her messes."

Then Donnie understood. God, he was one of them, really one of them...The Cleaners. He had never even believed they existed. "What—what do you want from me?" he asked. The Cleaner hadn't done his job with him, and instead he was speaking with him so it was clear that he wasn't going to either. "Come," the man said, as another bolt lit his almost white hair and Donnie saw that the man was an albino. How fitting, he thought bitterly, as the albino man waved forward. "The Supreme wants to talk with you."

_Of course. _As his feet moved, his eyes stole a glance at the corpse that he was leaving behind. Following the man outside into the storm, Donnie wondered what his own punishment was going to be.

* * *

Miles away from the cottage, in the ever haunted Arkham Asylum, Alan received the message.

So it had started.

* * *

_PS. The little tidbits about the interrogation tactics were from Burn Notice, and they did something very similar to 'bait and fish' in the show. I adapted it for my perusal, but Bane also used in TDKR, for real :p_

_Caught the South Park reference? The tossed guy was named 'Kenny' He he, wanted to do that for a looooong time. :)_

_So it's started, wish me luck ;)_


	6. The Prodigal Son Returns, Part I

_**Chapter Six**_

_**The Prodigal Son Returns **_

_**Part I off III**_

* * *

Put together once again, the phone sat on the table between them as an omen of things to come, and Valerie wanted to break it again, shatter into pieces, and bury it into depth of oceans, never to be seen, never to be found again. Dammit, just once, just _once_ it would be nice if her mistakes didn't come back to bite her ass off.

And if wishes were horses thieves would be riders... She lifted her head and looked at Bruce who sat grimly across the table. "I need to call him—" she paused, and tried to gauge his reaction. Nothing, there was nothing in his expression aside from those tight lines around his lips. The scowl had been there since he had read the message; the man who had carried her over the threshold in bridal style was already gone. "We need to learn how much he knows," she continued. "Perhaps—"

His eyes lowered to the phone, he finally broke his silence. "I think he knows enough, _Mrs. Wayne_."

"He might just have tracked the phone—"

"Valerie, don't feign cluelessness," he snapped curtly, "It doesn't suit you, either_._" She opened her mouth, but he cut her off again. "It's a prepaid phone—"

"If he tracked it down, he _only_ saw the point of origin—the Wayne Manor."

"And you believe that he didn't check out the _mistress_ of the house that's been plastered in the tabloids every day since last week?" He gave her a look, like it was all _her_ fault, and declared with a curt clarity that she couldn't have disagreed with more. "Valerie, he knows."

"In that case," she bit off, taking the phone, "Let's find out how much he does."

He let her. Jeremy answered on the first ring as if he had been _expecting_ it. And possibly he had. "Mrs. Wayne—" her oldest _friend_ exclaimed cheerfully, "Congratulations."

"It's still West," she answered automatically, as Bruce sent her a glare.

"Ah—" Jeremy laughed, "_I see_," he said, the sarcasm taking a higher note, "How was the honeymoon?"

"Terrific—" she shot back, "Until I got back home."

"Home?" Jeremy asked, and she kicked herself mentally for the slip. "Got into your play much?"

"What do you want, Jeremy?"

He let out another cheerful laugh. "Relax, luv, we want to talk."

All of the warning bells chimed in her mind at the highest level. She snuck a side glance at Bruce, whose expression, as impossible as it seemed, had turned even sterner. "We?" she asked, drawing her eyes away, her voice rough in her tight throat, _almost_ trembling. So stupid, she was _so_ stupid.

"Oh," Jeremy replied with the same good nature, "Sean wanted to give you his best wishes, too," then his voice lost the feigned sentiment. "The west side part of the port, 45th Street in the warehouse district, the fourth one," he ordered deadly serious. She closed her eyes. "Be there in thirty minutes. And do I need to remind you _alone_?"

The line ended. Opening her eyes, she put the phone back on the counter. A quick glance at Bruce was enough to see that the directives were coming.

"No," she started before he could begin, "I need to go alone."

And his answer came without losing a second, in a deep grasping rasp, "Out of the question." The way his jaw clenched she could clearly see how prepared he was for the upcoming fight, but suddenly she felt tired, of everything, of his issues, of her _own_ issues, and this damn repeated discussion that they couldn't manage to put an end no matter how hard they tried.

And the tiring she felt fueled her frustration. She was so sick of feeling that. "I need to go alone," she repeated.

"You _can't_ put a foot in that warehouse without me."

"Well, I _can't_ put a foot in with you, either," she encountered, the words thin with cattiness, almost a snicker. Bruce's eyes lit even more with a cold fire, as they turned to granite, but his expression remained unchanged, unhinged. She took a deep breath, and let it out. Being snappy wouldn't do any good, quite obviously they had passed the days she could goad a reaction out of him by pushing his buttons. So she took another breath, and tried reasoning.

"We _only_ know they know about me," she started, "We don't know what they know about _you_—" He opened his mouth, but she didn't let him speak. "I only talked with Jeremy, and Sean only knows that I had _someone_ with me in Ireland." She halted and gave him a searching look. "When you went to—see him, you hid your face, right?"

With a curt nod, he admitted, "I put on a balaclava."

"Right, you see—"

He cut her off, "Liam saw me. Ronnie saw me, too."

"They only saw a _man_ that Sean had _never_ seen, and you were in deep cover. I could barely recognize you myself. Bruce—" She paused then softening her tone she changed her approach even more. She reached for his hand, gently held it. "Honey, we have no evidence to assume that they know about you, too. But if you come with me, they will put two and two together."

He didn't speak, his expression still the same, eyes heated with sharp assertion, but she didn't back down. "I can convince them I got you into a con for marriage," she pressed further.

His fingers tightened over hers. "Convince them?" he grated, his eyes never leaving hers, "While you talked, your voice was trembling. I can't—"

She pulled her hand off, finally giving in, and shot back, "I was caught off guard. It won't happen again."

"It's too dangerous."

"I fell in love, Bruce," she said, her eyes holding his challengingly, "Not was incapacitated."

He held her stare back, as if to measure her up and down to decide how much truth there was in her words. It was hard to stay unwavering under that close of scrutiny, especially when she wasn't sure about it herself; her voice had _really_ trembled. She could take the leaps into the air with him, she could fight criminals next to him, she could interrogate nasty men beside him, but this was different.

This was about them, about that damn thing that pushed every fight they had into a dead end, and the stakes were so high now, higher than she had ever thought they would be, but she couldn't let anything happen to him, not because of her. "You'll have to trust me with that," she said after a while, "We don't have any choice."

"There is always a choice," Bruce countered, the deep rasp returning.

"_No!_" her voice rising, she shook her head. Yes, there was always a choice, always, but when it involved him, she _couldn't_ risk it. "Bruce, please," she started, "I can't be the one who—" Her breath itched, she stopped, not being able to complete the sentence, words stuck deep in her throat under that nightmarish prospect. She shook her head again. "_Please._ Trust me on this." His eyes never left her, and she forced herself not to turn hers away. "I can deal with them."

He gave her another look, his eyes still narrowed in his silent speculation. Valerie wondered what he was seeing in her now. "I'll tape you," he then slowly said, as if words were pulled out of him by sheer force, and she knew whatever he had seen he didn't like it, but it seemed Bruce Wayne was really trying to be _something else_. She nodded.

"And I'm pulling you out at the first sight of trouble," he added.

"I'll count on it," she countered, and she meant it with all of her being.

* * *

Home, he was back home, Thomas understood, looking up at the Elliot Inc.'s tall building, under the gloom of the Wayne Building in the middle of the city's center. Thomas smiled. Soon it was going to change, soon. Decisively he walked into his kingdom, and as he climbed steps people looked at him in awe as the prodigal son returned to his home.

His father was sitting behind his ornate table, hunched over his reports, a half full glass in his hands. Even the sight of it wasn't enough to sour his mood, today was a good day; no amount of liquor could ruin it. "Hello, father," Thomas greeted him as he walked in.

His father's old eyes found him, as Thomas approached his desk, and behind him in the floor-to-ceiling window was Gotham, unreachable and divine, but soon that was going to change as well.

His father's eyes turned away from the window toward to him. "Thomas?" Rupert asked, shock coloring his voice. Thomas didn't answer. His eyes still on him, his father put the glass in his hand aside, his mouth drawn into a flat line. The shock had already faded. "I thought you left," he said, accusations souring his voice.

Thomas though only smiled. "And now I've returned, Father," he said.

"Have you?" his father asked, one brushy eyebrow arching above.

Thomas settled in the seat in front of his desk. "You were right," he answered, and admitted, "I was—childish." This time his father's eyebrows were lost behind his hairline. "And now, I've returned to claim what is rightfully mine."

Rupert Elliot had never been one to drag things out more than necessary. So he only nodded. "Now, you truly talk like an Elliot, son." He stood up. "Well then, let's get started. We already lost enough time as it is."

Smiling, Thomas stood up, too. "First I need to take out some—garbage." His smile grew further, as his eyes skipped outside, where Wayne Building loomed. "Then, father, we will start."

* * *

Nothing had changed in Gotham in his absence, Donnie saw that as soon as his eyes met the nightscape that loomed with long luminous skyscrapers and lights, blinking in and out of existence in the city that never slept.

And soon they were really not going to sleep, he thought, as the dread crept along his back. As soon as the albino man had left him with the Supreme himself, and as soon as the old man had opened his mouth and mentioned that _name_ Donnie knew about his punishment; there was no death for him, no, but his fate was going to be worse than Dahlia's.

But it was too late now, too late for the second thoughts, too late for hesitancy, not when the noose around his neck was tighter than ever, and his strings were held by a mad clown. They hadn't said it in words, they never spoke _merely_ with words, but still Donnie had understood. Succeed, you were free; fail, you were dead, in the _best_ case, he added to himself.

His eyes turned back to the bunker. Aside from the basic necessities, their gifts, and the computer hub in the left corner, the stainless steel structure was bare, the metallic interior was cold, almost clinic under the pale fluorescent. He would have preferred a more dimly lit ambience, but somehow it seemed fitting that the Cleaner had arranged this, of course, cold and clinical, mechanical like the albino man himself. Or maybe he just had a terrible sense of humor, Donnie thought, clamping down on a slight tremor. His gaze moved toward the gifts at the right corner, and he shook his head. Yes, they all _definitely_ had a sense of humor. Prying his eyes away, he turned to left, toward the computer hub, and looked at the middle sized round device next to the screens. He had no idea what that was about, and funny enough he had no desire to find out, either. Though, he had an inkling that he was going to. His damn luck.

A silent curse on the tip of tongue, his eyes moved to the right, and spotted a clown mask and a black bowler hat on the top of bench where the round device settled. Freaks, all freaks.

The door of the bunker opened, and a man in the middle ages, remarkably plain, entered. His pace was stiff with hesitancy, and his face was somber as if he was walking to his own funeral. Donnie briefly wondered if this was a punishment for him too, ending up in this freak carnival, with him, and _him_—but then he decided he didn't care.

The man—the collaborator was here, and that was all that mattered. The man stopped in front of him, his eyes never wavering from his figure. "Everything settled?" he asked, as if he hadn't seen him the first time.

Giving a look at the colorful mask and the black hat, Donnie nodded.

"Then it's time," the collaborator said.

Donnie nodded again.

* * *

As his experienced hands plastered the wires on her body meticulously but rapidly, Valerie stuck the wireless in her ear. It was the same model that Bruce had given her when she had gone to Ivanokovic, the one he had Fox design for stealth, and she was _still _quite happy for Bruce's caution-mania that bordered on paranoia.

"The _second_ you feel something odd, mark me." Clad in his skin-tight suit till his neck, Bruce glued the mike between her breasts and pushed the wire under her bra. Around his hips where his utility belt was attached, the black balaclava hung, waiting to be used for the worst case scenario, as it happened, Bruce was going to be the one who was going to get her out, not Batman. She could not risk that, either.

Leaning on him as he pulled the wire down, she nodded. "And you will be careful—" he went on with his instructions and she tried to say the expected 'I'm always careful', but words wouldn't come. He pushed her a bit, and his eyes narrowed in inquisition. _Unaccustomed behaviors raise suspicion_, she reminded herself.

So with a silent sigh, she looked back at him, and said, "I'm always careful."

"Good," Bruce countered, but she couldn't be sure what exactly he thought was "good." "I found the blueprints of the warehouse," he continued, pulling the last wire off. "Study them. I'll need two minutes after your warning," he informed, as his tone took a note on irritation and anger, the wire pulled down roughly. "You need to keep them busy until then."

She drew in a short breath at the roughness. "Bruce," she started, as he took another mike. "I don't think they set me up."

"Valerie," he said curtly, "The last friend you saw tried to kill you, and the other sent you after your father despite knowing what it meant for you, and another tried to sell you to the mob. So excuse me if I don't have high expectations from your _friends_."

"Well," she shrugged, "when you put it like that." She took a step back as he finished, and put her shirt back on. "But Jeremy and Sean aren't that bad—" She paused a little, making a face. "Mostly." Bruce gave her a look. "Well, they called me first—"

"As far as we know," he reminded her, like she would forget.

"Whatever they want, they decided to want it from me," she reasoned. "Jeremy and Sean—well, we might have less than a perfect... reputation, and yes, we conned each other, we backstabbed each other, we double crossed each other, but always to each other. We never let anyone else do it to us." As her eyes drew to outside the old days tumbled over in her mind. She could still remember the pub she had met with Jeremy, the time together they had swept the idiots under the table in the drinking game, the time he had taught her how to crack into vaults, and hack into systems, and how Sean had taught her to mix the molotovs before she had _almost_ blown up the half of his place.

Her eyes turned to Bruce, and she saw him looking at her with suspicion. "Val, are you trying to say you—_trust_ them?"

Shaking her head, she laughed at the thought. "Trust them?" She shook her head again, a ghostly smile on her lips. "Bruce, I don't trust those bastards any more than I could throw them, but no, that wasn't what I meant. I meant there is a sort of—honor code between us—" Then the smile faded, as the reality of the situation returned. "I'm just not sure of its extensions."

Bruce still looked skeptical, of course. She shrugged. "You told me Sean wasn't the one who had sold me out to Ronnie," she pointed out, and again tried not to think what that would mean for Jason.

"It doesn't prove anything," Bruce rasped, his eyebrows tightened, and the anger darkened the hazel of his eyes more, as they caught the sight of her scar under her neckline.

She shook her head, and let her hair fall over her shoulders and hid the scar. "Then why did they send me the message?" she asked. "I mean, if they want to sell me to the highest bidder—" Her mouth turned down into scowl, "—all they needed to do was make a deal, then someone would pick me up on the streets." She paused, running her eyes. "It's not like I live in a cave."

The hazel turned completely dark, and for a moment she thought he was really going to hide her in his cave. But then he said, voice rasping menacingly, "Maybe it's not you they're setting up."

Her head snapped back at him. "We have no evidence to support that assumption," she said adamantly.

"Why not?" he shot back, "When someone threatened you last time, I came to your aid."

She shook his head. "_Bruce Wayne_ crushed into my van drunkenly."

"And he's your husband now."

Bowing her head, she let out a screech of frustration. "For god's sake, Bruce," she exclaimed, her hands yanking the roots of her hair, "stop making me more nervous than I already am." She lifted her head up and fixed at him a look. "They don't know anything," she said stubbornly. "No one knows."

No one could know it, no, not because of her, please god, not because of her...

The words she had told Ramirez echoed in her mind, crashing down on her, as Bruce nodded back at her, his eyes still full with suspicion. God, what she was going to do if he was right? Rip her own heart out of her chest?

* * *

In her office in Chill they had gathered again and their conversation topic was of course still the same. Selina momentarily thought whether she could have any other topic that could hold her interests any more, like in the early days when her most pressing issues for the day had been what to wear or how to meddle in Thomas's affairs. It was almost—absurd to think now that those had been her life-death situations a few months ago, as she had almost turned into a Jack Bauer now.

"Well," Alex started, as he leaned back on the couch, "It seems your—friend decided to use your generosity." He gave her a smirk, and pushing down the retort on her tongue, Selina decided to ignore it. What she had foolishly caused between them was worth more than a few smirks and snarky remarks, so she wasn't particularly pressing on the issue for the time being. Perhaps, she even..._deserved_ it. Kissing him. _What_ the hell she had been thinking?

"What happened?" Malkin asked across Alex, "What did you hear?"

"There was an Interpol bust two days ago in Costa Rica," Alex explained, "In the expo that we discovered that Navel was going to participate." He paused. "The Charming Devil was there, too."

Her attention turning back to Alex, Selina asked, her voice carrying a tone of surprise, "Was he?"

"Yeah," Alex replied, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, "Interpol got him, too, with the help of Batman."

Leaning back, Selina reflected the smirk back contently. "Well, we wanted to send them a message." And she had also wanted to send a message to Bruce, and she was sure its delivery now had been received. She might have proved at least _something. _She was a worthy asset.

"That we did," Alex confirmed, but his voice was lacking the contentment she was feeling. His face had lost that look; instead it bore a somber one.

Selina narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"Well," he answered, "We sent them a message. It's their turn now."

"You expect a counter attack," Derrick stated.

Alex shrugged. "Obviously. The Council surely won't let us meddle into their business without any payback." He looked at them. "I thought you were aware of that."

Derrick nodded, as Selina confirmed too with a curt nod. "Let them come, Alex," she said, her eyes firing. "Let them come."

Alex's eyes turned to her. "So now what?" he asked, "What is the plan?" Again with that damn smirk. "I mean you gave out everything in our hands."

And her patience, her patience was really growing thin. "Will you cut it out?" she snapped. "We gambled, and we won." He eyes skipped to the racketeer who watched their exchange carefully. "Now, we'll see about the second round," she said, and turned to Malkin. Before the second round, there was another thing they needed to deal with.

"Mr. Malkin," she started, leaning back again, "Alex was right in one point before. _He_ would never do anything with a thief, and a—" Her head angled to Alex, and she gave him a tight smile, her lips pressed, "dealer, and with a racketeer." She turned back to him. "And I stopped doing what I was doing, and Alex stopped it, too, but you, Mr. Malkin, are still doing it."

"It's my job," Malkin said, neither his face of voice betraying any of his thoughts.

Not moving an inch, Selina answered, "Find something else," she paused, "—more legitimate."

Abruptly, a smile cracked on the man's lips. "Frankly, Ms. Kyle, that was exactly what I was _trying_ to do before your—friend put it to an end by sending Tavian behind bars."

"Then he did well," Selina countered flatly, her lips turning down with dissatisfaction. "I heard that man is a weapons dealer." Her eyes fixed on the racketeer, as Alex watched her closely. "You're better than that, Mr. Malkin."

His eyebrows rose at her words, but Selina remained motionless, staring back at him. "That man has connections, and intel, Ms. Kyle," the racketeer said, "the intel also helped us to get Navel and his boss."

"I didn't say he isn't useful."

Alex smiled, bowing his head. Malkin nodded. "Well, let's say then I'm in between jobs now," he finally said.

"Come here then," Selina countered, as the both men's heads snapped to her. "Get your men you trust unconditionally, and come here." She paused, and gave him a small smile. "I barely know a thing about business, let alone how to run a night club. I need a partner."

Malkin looked at her, his eyes finally projecting a sentiment; a clear surprise at her proposition. "Are you serious?" he asked.

"I don't make jokes, Mr. Malkin."

"Oh yeah," Alex interrupted, and she _again_ ignored him. Malkin opened his mouth, but before he uttered what he was going to say, the door opened, and their heads turned—

"Well, well, well," Thomas walked into his former office, hands in his pockets, his eyes drifting between two men. His eyes briefly touched on her future partner, but lingered on Alex, as if trying to place him on somewhere then settled on her. "Things have indeed changed in my absence," he intoned.

Selina climbed on her feet. "Yes, dearie, they have indeed changed," she confirmed. "So—"

His head titled to Malkin. "You know for a while I really wondered what you were doing with him."

Malkin stood up, too. "Thomas," he said, "You were gone, and Mr. Kyle bought Chill legally."

His eyes fixed on her, Thomas smirked. "I'm sure she did."

She returned the smirk. "Yes, Thomas, yes, I did." She had always wondered about that moment, had always wondered what she would feel, a melancholy over the broken ties, and memories? She looked for it, but found none. The circle was really broken, and instead of sadness or fear she had been expecting, she felt relief. She felt—_free._ "It is done."

Thomas, on the other hand, just laughed. "Oh, dear, it's just started." Then his face turned to stone. "Send them away. We need to talk."

"And what do we have left to talk about now, Thomas?"

"How about Hollis, twin cats, and—" His eyes turned even stonier. "_Reese_."

As soon as the words were uttered, she understood he had been right. They weren't done, no; they had just started.

Her eyes fixed on Thomas, she curtly told the men, "Leave us alone." They looked at her. "Now."

* * *

Casting a glance at the four carat ring on her finger, Valerie pushed the metal door. She had dreamed using her ring for much better occasion, mostly involving her and Bruce, and nothing else, nothing _literally_ else. She sighed inwardly, this was far from any special occasion they'd both dreamed about, her using the sparking jewelry to convince two men that she'd conned him into the marriage, but what choice did she have now? A pang of guilt seeped into her, but she blocked it out. She was going to do whatever necessary to keep him safe, _whatever._

Her jaw setting decisively, she walked into the abandoned warehouse. The warehouse seemed to be clean, but they couldn't be sure of it, the surveillance Bruce could have been able to put on from afar was only able to determine that the warehouse was registered to a firm that had gone bankrupt two years ago, and because of the legal procedures the warehouse had been abandoned since then. It was of course useless to ask how they had found about it, not when you had the best hacker money could buy on your team. She sighed again, and remembered how she had felt after Bruce had collected her in the warehouse, having nowhere to go, no friends to ask favors. The situation with her _friends_ when she didn't have the upper hand had been always bad enough, but when they held all the cards... well, it was gigantically worse. Holding a sigh on her tongue, she fiercely wished whatever that thing between them was, it _still_ meant something.

And she also wished there was some light, the darkness was absolutely grating on her nerves. "_The thermal cameras read three signatures,_" Bruce informed her through the wireless, "_at your left_. _Fifty yards_," he continued, then instructed, "_Take fifteen steps, and stop_." She obeyed, turned to left, and started to count. Before she hit to fifteen, the fluorescent lights lit, an all-familiar-amused voice remarked from her left side, "Amazing." She stopped, as Jeremy appeared behind the half opened big crate, his eyes fixed at her curiously. "Amazing, really, amazing."

Sean appeared the next. "Of course," he said, stopping beside Jeremy, "Christian has been always excellent in his profession."

"_Maintain your distance_," Bruce ordered again, _like_ she would approach them closer. Posing, she popped her left hip out, crossing her arms under her chest, and smirked. "Would you expect me to trust anything less with _my face?_"

"Of course not," Jeremy agreed with a laugh then took a step forward. "C'mon, girl, give us a hug."

Hastily, she took a step back, as both of them raised an eyebrow. "I'm not going to hug anyone who threatened me!" she spat.

Jeremy flinched back and twisted aside to look at his companion. "Threaten you?" He turned to her. "Who threatened you?" He turned back to Sean, and gestured, "Did we threaten her?"

"No," the dealer said, "We didn't."

Jeremy turned to her back again. "Yes, we didn't."

She raised her phone. "Then what do you call this?" Jeremy gave her a toothy grin. "_Or should I call you Mrs. Wayne now?_"

Sean smirked. "It was more like prodding."

"For the record," Valerie smirked back. "It's still West." Despite the situation, Bruce slightly grunted inside her ear, and the sound made her even more determinate. She wasn't going to let anything happen to him. She was not. Never.

"Ah—" Jeremy sighed. "So—how is the wedded life going?" he asked feigning curiosity.

"Could be better," she shot back, and took another step back then leaping sat on the crate behind her. "You know, I needed to cut off my honeymoon because of some—inconsiderate friends," she went on with terrible sweetness, and crossed her legs with a pouting sigh. "And for that, I'm going to need to cook him something like steaks on café de Paris."

"_Poor you,_" Jeremy smiled mockingly, then his face sobered. "How did you get him?"

"Are you kidding?" she asked back. "I worked for him six months!" she exclaimed. "I didn't stay up there doing nothing."

Sean raised his eyebrows. "So what—he knows too?"

Something of the size of mountains lifted off her heart, but she maintained her pose on the crate. Bruce let out a breath inside her ear. "Don't be stupid," she said with a roll of eyes, "of course he doesn't."

Sean titled his head aside, his forehead wrinkled with thoughts. "I read he was who saved you with a crash."

She forced a huff out of her lips. "He crashed into the van, trying to catch the green, _blind drunk_," she added. It was what Gordon had told the papers, and the tabloids had dealt with the rest, saying that he had been drunk after his act, and she couldn't have been gladder of that right now. "He hadn't even known why I was in the van." She paused a second, a smile creeping on her lips, as she braced one hand back. "I made him believe the move was so heroic, though."

Jeremy snickered. "Sure you did."

"I needed money," she explained before they asked for more. "Christian isn't a cheap guy, you know."

"Where is he?" Sean asked.

"I don't know."

Jeremy laughed. "Marriage has gotten you softer, Fi," the hacker remarked as if he was disappointed, and passed her crate. "You were so much better liar." She closed her eyes momentarily, as the world shook around her—"We know he went off gird after you."

Her eyes opened, as she let out a silent breath. "I don't know where he is," she lied again, and hopped down. She had a very good idea where Christian was, she had sent her there, with a little bit help of blackmailing, but she wasn't going to tell them about that.

"So—" Jeremy said returning next to Sean, "So...who is he?"

"Do you really want to know that?" she asked, her eyes widened incredulously, her hands gesturing in front of her. "Look at me! I _needed to_ change my face, Jeremy!"

"That was only because you were stupid enough to broadcast it."

She shook her head, and trying to pour every damn thing had happened to her since that time into her voice, she said, "You don't know how dangerous it is."

Jeremy gave him a look. "No, I don't, but I can imagine." Her eyes narrowed, as a small 'what' escaped from her lips. Then the hacker grinned at her. "Oh, darling, _that's_ not why we're here."

Fear with relief danced in her insides, and hope joined them, too. "I can get you whatever you want." She raised her hand up, and her ring flashed in the light. "I was _very_ thorough with him."

Sean smiled. "Sure you were," but Jeremy grinned even wider. "Oh, dear, we're not here for that, either." The hacker paused. "That's just a _slight_ benefit."

Her eyes narrowed even further this time. "What do you mean?"

"Fi," Jeremy said, "We didn't come to blackmail you—or expose you—" Her eyebrows rose higher. "We came to warn you."

"Warn me from what?"

"From your new friends," Sean said, as Jeremy asked, "Who are Selina Kyle and Thomas Elliot," and she closed her eyes as Bruce growled in her ear, "and what've they got to do with that Hollis you asked me to look for?"

Her eyes snapped open. "Tell me what happened," she demanded, walking to them fiercely. "Tell me what happened!"

Sean smiled. "A week ago, they found us," he explained, as Jeremy gave her a look. "Fi, they're after you," her world crumbled down on her even further than before, "And they're very close."


End file.
